The Cash Boy | Page 5

your sister, Frank!''
``Not my sister, mother?'' he exclaimed. ``You are not in earnest?''
``I am quite in earnest, Frank.''
``Then whose child is she?''
``She is my child.''
``Then she must be my sister--are you not my mother?''
``No, Frank, I am not your mother!''

CHAPTER II
MRS. FOWLER'S STORY
``Not my mother!'' he exclaimed. ``Who, then, is my mother?''
``I cannot tell you, Frank. I never knew. You will forgive me for
concealing this from you for so long.''
``No matter who was my real mother since I have you. You have been a
mother to me, and I shall always think of you as such.''
``You make me happy, Frank, when you say that. And you will look
upon Grace as a sister also, will you not?''
``Always,'' said the boy, emphatically. ``Mother, will you tell all you
know about me? I don't know what to think; now that I am not your son
I cannot rest till I learn who I am.''
``I can understand your feelings, Frank, but I must defer the
explanation till to-morrow. I have fatigued myself with talking. but

to-morrow you shall know all that I can tell you.''
``Forgive me for not thinking of your being tired, mother,'' and he bent
over and pressed his lips upon the cheek of the sick woman. ``But don't
talk any more. Wait till to-morrow.''
In the afternoon Frank had a call from Sam Pomeroy.
``The club is to play to-morrow afternoon against a picked nine,
Frank,'' he said. ``Will you be there?''
``I can't, Sam,'' he answered. ``My mother is very sick, and it is my
duty to stay at home with her.''
``We shall miss you--that is, all of us but one. Tom Pinkerton said
yesterday that you ought to resign, as you can't attend to your duties.
He wouldn't object to filling your place, I fancy.''
``He is welcome to the place as soon as the club feels like electing
him,'' said Frank. ``Tell the boys I am sorry I can't be on hand. They
had better get you to fill my place.''
``I'll mention it, but I don't think they'll see it in that light. They're all
jealous of my superior playing,'' said Sam, humorously. ``Well,
good-bye, Frank. I hope your mother'll be better soon.''
``Thank you, Sam,'' answered Frank, soberly. ``I hope so, too, but she is
very sick.''
The next day Mrs. Fowler again called Frank to the bedside.
``Grace is gone out on an errand,'' she said, ``and I can find no better
time for telling you what I know about you and the circumstances
which led to my assuming the charge of you.''
``Are you strong enough, mother?''
``Yes, Frank. Thirteen years ago my husband and myself occupied a
small tenement in that part of Brooklyn know as Gowanus, not far from

Greenwood Cemetery. My husband was a carpenter, and though his
wages were small he was generally employed. We had been married
three years, but had no children of our own. Our expenses were small,
and we got on comfortably, and should have continued to do so, but
that Mr. Fowler met with an accident which partially disabled him. He
fell from a high scaffold and broke his arm. This was set and he was
soon able to work again, but he must also have met with some internal
injury, for his full strength never returned. Half a day's work tired him
more than a whole day's work formerly had done. Of course our
income was very much diminished, and we were obliged to economize
very closely. This preyed upon my husband's mind and seeing his
anxiety, I set about considering how I could help him, and earn my
share of the expenses.
``One day in looking over the advertising columns of a New York
paper I saw the following advertisement:
`` `For adoption--A healthy male infant. The parents are able to pay
liberally for the child's maintenance, but circumstances compel them to
delegate the care to another. Address for interview A. M.'
``I had no sooner read this advertisement than I felt that it was just what
I wanted. A liberal compensation was promised, and under our present
circumstances would be welcome, as it was urgently needed. I
mentioned the matter to my husband, and he was finally induced to
give his consent.
``Accordingly, I replied to the advertisement.
``Three days passed in which I heard nothing from it. But as we were
sitting at the supper table at six o'clock one afternoon, there came a
knock at our front door. I opened it, and saw before me a tall stranger, a
man of about thirty-five, of dark complexion, and dark whiskers. He
was well dressed, and evidently a gentleman in station.
`` `Is this Mrs.