Tommy Taft was not amazed; but if he had not already become accustomed to affronts and ill-shapen visages, he might have been awed into silence. He merely paused, with his right foot on the shoulder of the spade share, and peered at the stranger. To the best of his knowledge, he had never seen him before. On a former time, however, he had chanced to see his own face in a mirror and, odd as it may seem, he now remarked to himself a striking resemblance between the two faces,—his own and that of the new comer. But his thoughts were quickly turned.
"I say, young man!"
"What say?" replied Tommy Taft.
"You don't happen to know a young man by the name o' Tom Taft, do you?"
"I reckon I do." The youth plunged the spade share into the earth, and folded his arms.
"Have a shake, then," continued the stranger.
"But that ain't a tellin' me who you be," said Tommy Taft, approaching and holding out his hand.
"I'm Jim Taft; and if so be your father was a shoemaker in this town and got locked up—I say, I'm he!"
There was pathos in the utterance of these words, and, somehow or other, Tommy Taft's heart fluttered just a little and before he was aware of it a tear was trickling down his cheek.
"Are you happy, young man," queried the elder. He drew himself up on the wall.