“Do not ask Harry unless he chooses to tell,” said Mrs. Hallock, wiping her eyes.
“But I do; I must,” said Harry. “I shall feel better when I have told it all. And it is only that when I got back to Rock Falls, and went to the place where my father’s house had been, there was nothing there but burned beams and dry ashes; and when I asked for my father and mother, a man told me to go with him, and he showed me ever so many new graves, and told me where my father and mother lay. Folks tried to be good to me, but I walked a long way—ever so many days. I wanted to get just as far away from there as ever I could.”
“But, my boy, had you no uncles nor aunts?” asked Mrs. Hallock.
“Why, yes. There was Uncle Horace—he lived in Maine, I believe; and mother had a good many letters from him.”
“What is his other name?” questioned Kate. “Won’t it be splendid, mamma, to find Harry’s uncle for him; and maybe he will be rich and capital and everything,” cried Kate, full of glee in an instant, and she evinced it by clapping her hands and jumping in true girl fashion.
Harry’s face flushed as he answered, “I don’t know his other name.”
“Don’t know!” uttered Mrs. Hallock in a voice that betrayed more astonishment than she intended to evince.
“But what was your mother’s name?” she added, being quite certain that some clue might be obtained.
“Bessie, Bessie Blake,” said Harry.
The same evening Mrs. Hallock addressed a letter to Mr. Horace Blake, Solon, Maine, hoping that by the time Harry was able to be about again, that she should have found an uncle for him. She waited patiently until it was July, and yet no letter came from Mr. Horace Blake.