The detective crossed the street, walked up a tiny footpath and rang the bell of the small house. Mrs. Avery came to the door, a gentle-faced little woman with white hair. She looked inquiringly at the visitor. "Mrs. Avery, I believe?" said the man in drab. "That is my name." "I would like the favor of a few words with you, madam." "Come in then," and she led the way to a modest sitting-room. "My husband," she said, introducing him to a kindly old man, as white-haired as herself. "My name is Fletcher," said the visitor, "and I have come to you for information. But first, am I right in my belief that you "Yes, sir. My husband and I had charge of it for fifteen years. We should have been there now, but for Squire Dixon, the new Overseer of the Poor, who wanted the place for some friends of his, Mr. and Mrs. Fogson." "I have had the pleasure of seeing Mrs. Fogson," said Fletcher with a smile. "I am sure, now that I have seen you both, that the change was for the worse." "I fear that the poor people are very shabbily treated," said Mrs. Avery gravely. "It makes me feel very badly, but what can I do? Squire Dixon sustains them, and he has everything to say. But you say you want some information. I shall be glad to tell you what I can." "I want information touching a boy, now perhaps sixteen years of age, bearing the name of Jed Gilman." Mr. and Mrs. Avery immediately showed signs of interest. "He has left the poorhouse," said Mr. Avery. "So I am told." "Do you inquire as a friend of the poor boy?" asked Mrs. Avery. "Emphatically his friend. But first tell me, what kind of a boy is he?" "A fine, manly, spirited lad, warm-hearted and attractive." The detective looked pleased, but surprised. "That doesn't correspond with what Mrs. Fogson told me," he said. "I suppose not. She and her husband tried to bully Jed and overwork him, till he was compelled to run away. I don't know where he is now." "But I do. He is at Bar Harbor, in the company of a rich gentleman from New York, and I believe employed on his yacht." "I am thankful to hear it." "But what I wish to learn are the circumstances attending his being placed at the poorhouse. I suppose you remember them?" "Oh yes, as well as if it were yesterday, though it is fourteen years since." "Go on, madam, I am all interest." "It was a cold evening in November," began Mrs. Avery reflectively, "and I was "'Can you give me and my boy a night's lodging?' she asked. "We often had such applications, and never sent away a decent-looking person. So I said yes readily enough and the two entered. They seemed hungry, and though it was late for us I gave them some bread and milk, of which the child in particular partook heartily. I asked the young woman some questions but she was very close-mouthed. "'Wait till morning,' she said. 'The boy and I are very tired.' "I asked no more but gave them a bed, and I suppose they both slept well. I was able to give them a small room to themselves. "In the morning when I entered I found only the boy. The young woman had gone, but pinned to the child's clothing was this note:
"That was all. Mr. Avery and myself were dumfounded, but we had taken a fancy to the boy and resolved to keep him. There was some difficulty about it, for he was not legally entitled to be brought up at the town's cost. However, Mr. Avery and I agreed to pay part of the expense for the first year, and after that he was looked upon as one of the regular inmates and cared for as such." "And the young woman never called again?" "Never." "Nor sent you any message, oral or written?" "Never." "Was there any article of dress, or any ornament, left with the child that might help to identify it?" "Yes. Wait here a minute and I will show you something which I have carefully preserved from that day to this." |