"I think you may hope for much. Your child I have questioned closely. He knows nothing of his history; does not even know that his father is alive. The only information he has received from his mother is, that W—— is his uncle."
"Are you sure of this?"
"Oh yes. I have, as I said, questioned him very closely on this point."
This seemed to relieve the mind of Mr. Miller. He mused for some minutes, and then said—
"I wish to see my son, and at once remove him from his present position. May I ask you to accompany me to the place where he now is."
"I will go with pleasure," I returned, rising.
We left my office immediately, and went direct to Maxwell's shop. As we entered, we heard most agonizing cries, mingled with hoarse angry imprecations from the shoemaker and the sound of his strap. He was whipping some one most severely. My heart misgave me that it was poor little Bill. We hurried into the shop. It was true. Maxwell had the child across his knees, and was beating him most cruelly.
"That is your son," I said, in an excited voice to Miller, pointing to the writhing subject of the shoemaker's ire. In an instant Maxwell was lying four or five feet from his bench in a corner of his shop, among the lasts and scraps of leather. A powerful blow on the side of his head, with a heavy cane, had done his. The father's hand had dealt it. Maxwell rose to his feet in a terrible fury, but the upraised cane of Miller, his dark and angry countenance, and his declaration that if he advanced a step toward him, or attempted to lay his hand again upon the boy, he would knock his brains out, cooled his ire considerably.
"Come, my boy," Miller then said, catching hold of the hand of the sobbing child—"let me take you away from this accursed den for ever."
"Stop!" cried Maxwell, coming forward at this; "you cannot take that boy away. He is bound to me by law, until he is twenty-one. Bill! don't you dare to go."