The General's heart stopped beating and then gave a bound. The skies suddenly opened for him and then shut up again.
His exclamation brought the child to a stop and he glanced up at him in vague wonder. The General stooped and gazed at him searchingly, almost fiercely. The next second he had pounced upon him and lifted him in his arms while the bundle fell to the pavement.
“My boy! I am your grandfather,” he cried, kissing him violently. “I am your grandfather Hampden.”
The child was lost in amazement for a moment, and then, putting his hands against the General's face, he pushed him slowly away.
“Put me down, please,” he said, with that gravity which in a child means so much.
General Hampden set him down on the pavement. The boy looked at him searchingly for a second, and then turned in silence and lifted his bundle. The General's face wore a puzzled look—he had solved many problems, but he had never had one more difficult than this. His heart yearned toward the child, and he knew that on his own wisdom at that moment might depend his future happiness. On his next words might hang for him life or death. The expression on the boy's face, and the very set of his little back as he sturdily tugged at his burden, recalled his father, and with it the General recognized the obstinacy which he knew lurked in the Hampden blood, which had once been his pride.
“Oliver,” he said, gravely, leaning down over the boy and putting his hand on him gently, “there has been a great mistake. I am going home with you to your mother and tell her so. I want to see her and your grandfather, and I think I can explain everything.”
The child turned and gazed at him seriously, and then his face relaxed. He recognized his deep sincerity.
“All right.” He turned and walked down the street, bending under his burden. The General offered to carry it for him, but he declined.
“I can carry it,” was the only answer he made except once when, as the General rather insisted, he said firmly, “I want to carry it myself,” and tottered on.