which, despite his bashfulness, both showed his own hurt, and rebuked
his elder's thoughtless question.

"Poor boy!" whispered Mrs. Faringfield, grasping her little Tom's
hand.

"Oh," said her husband, slowly, slightly awed from his sternness. "I
beg your pardon, my lad. I am very sorry, indeed. Your being here,
then, means that you are now an orphan?"

"Yes, sir," was the boy's only answer, and he lowered his eyes toward
his kitten, and so sad and lonely an expression came into his face
that no wonder Mrs. Faringfield whispered again, "Poor lad," and even
Madge and little Tom looked solemn.

"Well, boy, something must be done about you, that's certain," said
Mr. Faringfield. "You have no money, my daughter says. Spent all you
had for cakes and kickshaws in the towns where the stage-coach
stopped, I'll warrant."

The boy smiled. "The riding made me hungry sir," said he. "I'd have
saved my extra shilling if I'd known how it was going to be."

"But is there nothing coming to you in Philadelphia? Did your mother
leave nothing?"

"Everything was sold at auction to pay our debts--it took the books
and our furniture and all, to do that."

"The books?"