"What!" he returned, with a look of surprise; "do you think of me so? I
feel as if I had known you all my life--and before it!"

I felt ashamed, and was silent. If he was such a stranger, why was I
there alone with him?

"You must not think I speak so to any one," he went on. "Of those who
know my mother, not one has a right to demand of me anything concerning
her. But how could I ask you to see me, and hide from you the truth about
her? Prudence would tell you to have nothing to do with the son of such a
woman: could I be a true man, true to you, and hold my tongue about her?
I should be a liar of the worst sort!"

He felt far too strongly, it was plain, to heed a world of commonplaces.

"Forgive me," I said. "May I sit down again?"

He held out his hand. I took it, and reseated myself on the
clover-hillock. He laid himself again beside me, and after a little
silence began to relate what occurred to him of his external history,
while all the time I was watching for hints as to how he had come to be
the man he was. It was clear he did not find it easy to talk about
himself. But soon I no longer doubted whether I ought to have met him,
and loved him a great deal more by the time he had done.

I then told him in return what my life had hitherto been; how I knew
nothing of father or mother; how my uncle had been everything to me; how
he had taught me all I knew, had helped me to love what was good and hate
what was evil, had enabled me to value good books, and turn away from
foolish ones. In short, I made him feel that all his mother had not been