A conversation followed, in which the whole story was told.
"Well," said Billy's new friend, who proved to be a tailor in a very small way of business, "how do you feel now?"
"Lonesome and sort of empty."
"Do you mean hungry?"
"Perhaps that's it," said Billy.
"Then you may come home with me to-night," said the man, "and after supper I'll see if the balloon is spoiled.'
"It is only collapsed," said Billy, very pompously; but when on getting up to walk he found his clothing reduced to about half what he had before, he assumed a meeker tone, and followed his new friend thankfully. The cow going first, turned down a lane bordered with sunflowers, and stopped by the door of a wee red house. A moment after, a small figure with a tin pail came out of the house, and sat down to milk the cow.
"This is my son Ben," said the host.
At first Billy had taken the child for a girl, for the little boy's checked apron came down to his copper-toed shoes, and he wore a green sun-bonnet, under which Billy saw soft white hair, and a very sweet face. They entered a kitchen, small, bare, but very clean, where a table was spread with blue dishes, brown-bread, baked apples, and cold pork. In the chimney-corner sat a little old woman, who sang as she rocked. She was very deaf, but she smiled on Billy, on the tailor, and on her little grandson. She would have smiled on anybody, as to that. But a grandmother's kind face being new to Billy, he thought it beautiful. He found the supper exceedingly good, if not very abundant, and he was interested in watching Ben. The child soberly washed the dishes, and neatly swept up the crumbs, saying very little. The reason for his silence was after a while apparent to Billy: little Ben stuttered.
After supper, the room being warm, and Billy being tired, he dozed in a corner of the old lounge. While he slept the tailor went to see about the balloon, and staid a long time.