“Hark!” exclaimed Blake. “What was that?”
“It sounded like someone crying,” said Mr. Piper.
“Mamma! Mamma!” came the plaintive call from one of the bedrooms.
“It is someone crying!” decided the manager.
“And in here, too,” added Blake, as he made a turn in the direction of the sound.
Again it came—a pitiful cry:
“Mamma! I want you!”
“Where are you? Who are you?” asked Mr. Ringold, as he and the others followed Blake.
And there, sitting up amid a pile of bedclothes in a corner, hitherto unobserved, was a small boy, about eight years old. He had evidently just awakened, and was starting to cry. He rubbed his sleepy eyes.
“Well, my little man, who are you?” asked the manager, kindly.