The Errand Boy | Page 5

to be spoken of to any one?"
"Yes'm," answered Jonas readily.
"Very well. Now to proceed. Philip, you have heard probably that when you were very small your father--I mean Mr. Brent--lived in a small town in Ohio, called Fultonville?"
"Yes, I have heard him say so."
"Do you remember in what business he was then engaged?"
"He kept a hotel."
"Yes; a small hotel, but as large as the place required. He was not troubled by many guests. The few who stopped at his house were business men from towns near by, or drummers from the great cities, who had occasion to stay over a night. One evening, however, a gentleman arrived with an unusual companion--in other words, a boy of about three years of age. The boy had a bad cold, and seemed to need womanly care. Mr. Brent's wife----"
"My mother?"
"The woman you were taught to call mother," corrected the second Mrs. Brent, "felt compassion for the child, and volunteered to take care of it for the night. The offer was gladly accepted, and you-- for, of course, you were the child--were taken into Mrs. Brent's own room, treated with simple remedies, and in the morning seemed much better. Your father--your real father--seemed quite gratified, and preferred a request. It was that your new friend would take care of you for a week while he traveled to Cincinnati on business. After dispatching this, he promised to return and resume the care of you, paying well for the favor done him. Mrs. Brent, my predecessor, being naturally fond of children, readily agreed to this proposal, and the child was left behind, while the father started for Cincinnati."
Here Mrs. Brent paused, and Philip regarded her with doubt and suspense
"Well?" he said.
"Oh, you want to know the rest?" said Mrs. Brent with an ironical smile. "You are interested in the story?"
"Yes, madam, whether it is true or not."
"There isn't much more to tell," said Mrs. Brent.
"A week passed. You recovered from your cold, and became as lively as ever. In fact, you seemed to feel quite at home among your new surroundings, which was rather unfortunate, FOR YOUR FATHER NEVER CAME BACK!"
"Never came back!" repeated Philip.
"No; nor was anything heard from him. Mr. and Mrs. Brent came to the conclusion that the whole thing was prearranged to get rid of you. Luckily for you, they had become attached to you, and, having no children of their own, decided to retain you. Of course, some story had to be told to satisfy the villagers. You were represented to be the son of a friend, and this was readily believed. When, however, my late husband left Ohio, and traveled some hundreds of miles eastward to this place, he dropped this explanation and represented you as his own son. Romantic, wasn't it?"
Philip looked searchingly at the face of his step- mother, or the woman whom he had regarded as such, but he could read nothing to contradict the story in her calm, impassive countenance. A great fear fell upon him that she might be telling the truth. His features showed his contending emotions. But he had a profound distrust as well as dislike of his step-mother, and he could not bring himself to put confidence in what she told him.
"What proof is there of this?" he asked, after a while.
"Your father's word. I mean, of course, Mr. Brent's word. He told me this story before I married him, feeling that I had a right to know."
"Why didn't he tell me?" asked Philip incredulously.
"He thought it would make you unhappy."
"You didn't mind that," said Philip, his lips curling.
"No," answered Mrs. Brent, with a curious smile. "Why should I? I never pretended to like you, and now I have less cause than ever, after your brutal treatment of my boy."
Jonas endeavored to look injured, but could not at once change the expression of his countenance.
"Your explanation is quite satisfactory, Mrs. Brent," returned Philip. "I don't think I stood much higher in your estimation yesterday than today, so that I haven't lost much. But you haven't given me any proof yet."
"Wait a minute."
Mrs. Brent left the room, went up-stairs, and speedily returned, bringing with her a small daguerreotype, representing a boy of three years.
"Did you ever see this before?" she asked.
"No," answered Philip, taking it from her hand and eying it curiously.
"When Mr. and Mrs. Brent decided that you were to be left on their hands," she proceeded, "they had this picture of you taken in the same dress in which you came to them, with a view to establish your identity if at any time afterward inquiry should be made for you."
The daguerreotype represented a bright, handsome child, dressed tastefully, and more as would be expected of a city child than of one born in the country. There was enough resemblance to