was real, and that shilling was real. Ah! I wonder what's become of her." And a far-away look came into his eyes, as if he were back again in the old life of mingled joy and pain.
Meanwhile Mr. Munroe was out in the yard talking with Mr. Fisher.
"A fine young fellow that of yours, Mr. Fisher," was his first greeting.
"Yes," said the farmer; "I'd back him against any young man his age for ten miles round."
"An adopted son of yours, I suppose?"
"Well, no, not exactly," replied Mr. Fisher.
"Beg pardon, I thought you had adopted him."
"Well, perhaps you are not far wrong either. You see, he came to us five or six years agone, a poor little famished, wizened creature. It was a sweltering hot day, too, and he had walked all the way from Liverpool, sleeping at nights by the roadside, and by the time he got here—or, rather, he didn't get here—our folks were making hay in the home close, and he just got inside the gate, and dropped down in a fit, or something of the sort. Well, he was completely done up; the doctor never thought he would come round again, but he did, and you see what a fine fellow he's grown to."
"Yes, indeed! And so he has lived with you ever since?"
"Ever since. My wife says she believes the Lord directed him here. Any way, the boy was a great comfort to her, for we'd only just buried our little Rob, and he seemed to fill up the gap a bit, you see."
