“He went away, leaving us surprised and somewhat excited at the change that was to take place in our lives. The next evening the sound of wheels was heard, and a hack stopped at our gate. The same gentleman descended hurriedly with a child in his arms–you were the child, Frank–and entered the house.
” `This is the child,’ he said, placing it in my arms, `and here is the first quarterly installment of your pay. Three months hence you will receive the same sum from my agent in New York. Here is his address,’ and he placed a card in my hands. `Have you anything to ask?’
” `Suppose I wish to communicate with you respecting the child? Suppose he is sick?’
” `Then write to A. M., care of Giles Warner, No. —- Nassau Street. By the way, it will be necessary for you to send him your postoffice address after your removal in order that he may send you your quarterly dues.’
“With this he left us, entered the hack, and drove off. I have never seen him since.”
CHAPTER III
LEFT ALONE
Frank listened to this revelation with wonder. For the first time in his life he asked himself, “Who am I?”
“How came I by my name, mother?” he asked.
“I must tell you. After the sudden departure of the gentleman who brought you, we happened to think that we had not asked your name. We accordingly wrote to the address which had been given us, making the inquiry. In return we received a slip of paper containing these words: `The name is immaterial; give him any name you please. A. M.’ ”
“You gave me the name of Frank.”
“It was Mr. Fowler’s name. We should have given it to you had you been our own boy; as the choice was left to us, we selected that.”
“It suits me as well as any other. How soon did you leave Brooklyn, mother?”
“In a week we had made all arrangements, and removed to this place. It is a small place, but it furnished as much work as my husband felt able to do. With the help of the allowance for your support, we not only got on comfortably, but saved up a hundred and fifty dollars annually, which we deposited in a savings bank. But after five years the money stopped coming. It was the year 1857, the year of the great panic, and among others who failed was Giles Warner’s agent, from whom we received our payments. Mr. Fowler went to New York to inquire about it, but only learned that Mr. Warner, weighed down by his troubles, had committed suicide, leaving no clew to the name of the man who left you with us.”
“How long ago was that, mother?”
“Seven years ago nearly eight.”
“And you continued to keep me, though the payments stopped.”
“Certainly; you were as dear to us as our own child–for we now had a child of our own–Grace. We should as soon have thought of casting off her as you.”
“But you must have been poor, mother.”
“We were economical, and we got along till your father died three years ago. Since then it has been hard work.”
“You have had a hard time, mother.”
“No harder on your account. You have been a great comfort to me, Frank. I am only anxious for the future. I fear you and Grace will suffer after I am gone.”
“Don’t fear, mother, I am young and strong; I am not afraid to face the world with God’s help.”
“What are you thinking of, Frank?” asked Mrs. Fowler, noticing the boy’s fixed look.
“Mother,” he said, earnestly, “I mean to seek for that man you have told me of. I want to find out who I am. Do you think he was my father?”
“He said he was, but I do not believe it. He spoke with hesitation, and said this to deceive us, probably.”
“I am glad you think so, I would not like to think him my father. From what you have told me of him I am sure I would not like him.”
“He must be nearly fifty now–dark complexion, with dark hair and whiskers. I am afraid that description will not help you any. There are many men who look like that. I should know him by his expression, but I cannot describe that to you.”