Frank listened to this revelation with wonder.

　　For the first time in his life he asked himself, ``Whoam I?''

　　``How came I by my name, mother?'' he asked.

　　``I must tell you. After the sudden departure ofthe gentleman who brought you, we happened tothink that we had not asked your name. We accordinglywrote to the address which had been given us,making the inquiry. In return we received a slipof paper containing these words: `The name isimmaterial; give him any name you please. A. M.' ''

　　``You gave me the name of Frank.''

　　``It was Mr. Fowler's name. We should have givenit to you had you been our own boy; as the choicewas left to us, we selected that.''

　　``It suits me as well as any other. How soon didyou leave Brooklyn, mother?''

　　``In a week we had made all arrangements, andremoved to this place. It is a small place, but itfurnished as much work as my husband felt able todo. With the help of the allowance for your support,we not only got on comfortably, but saved up a hundredand fifty dollars annually, which we depositedin a savings bank. But after five years the moneystopped coming. It was the year 1857, the year ofthe great panic, and among others who failed wasGiles Warner's agent, from whom we received ourpayments. Mr. Fowler went to New York to inquireabout it, but only learned that Mr. Warner, weigheddown by his troubles, had committed suicide, leavingno clew to the name of the man who left you withus.''

　　``How long ago was that, mother?''

　　``Seven years ago nearly eight.''

　　``And you continued to keep me, though thepayments stopped.''

　　``Certainly; you were as dear to us as our ownchild--for we now had a child of our own--Grace.

　　We should as soon have thought of casting off heras you.''

　　``But you must have been poor, mother.''

　　``We were economical, and we got along till yourfather died three years ago. Since then it has beenhard work.''

　　``You have had a hard time, mother.''

　　``No harder on your account. You have been agreat comfort to me, Frank. I am only anxious forthe future. I fear you and Grace will suffer after Iam gone.''

　　``Don't fear, mother, I am young and strong; Iam 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 forthat man you have told me of. I want to find outwho I am. Do you think he was my father?''

　　``He said he was, but I do not believe it. Hespoke with hesitation, and said this to deceive us,probably.''

　　``I am glad you think so, I would not like to thinkhim my father. From what you have told me ofhim I am sure I would not like him.''

　　``He must be nearly fifty now--dark complexion,with dark hair and whiskers. I am afraid thatdescription will not help you any. There are manymen who look like that. I should know him by hisexpression, but I cannot describe that to you.''

　　Here Mrs. Fowler was seized with a very severefit of coughing, and Frank begged her to say nomore.

　　Two days later, and Mrs. Fowler was no better.

　　She was rapidly failing, and no hope was entertainedthat she would rally. She herself felt that deathwas near at hand and told Frank so, but he foundit hard to believe.

　　On the second of the two days, as he was returningfrom the village store with an orange for hismother, he was overtaken by Sam Pomeroy.

　　``Is your mother very sick, Frank?'' he asked.

　　``Yes, Sam, I'm afraid she won't live.''

　　``Is it so bad as that? I do believe,'' he added, witha sudden change of tone, ``Tom Pinkerton is themeanest boy I ever knew. He is trying to get yourplace as captain of the baseball club. He says thatif your mother doesn't live, you will have to go tothe poorhouse, for you won't have any money, andthat it will be a disgrace for the club to have acaptain from the poorhouse.''

　　``Did he say that?'' asked Frank, indignantly.

　　``Yes.''

　　``When he tells you that, you may say that I shallnever go to the poorhouse.''

　　``He says his father is going to put you and yoursister there.''

　　``All the Deacon Pinkertons in the world can nevermake me go to the poorhouse!'' said Frank, resolutely.

　　``Bully for you, Frank! I knew you had spunk.''

　　Frank hurried home. As he entered the littlehouse a neighbor's wife, who had been watchingwith his mother, came to meet him.

　　``Frank,'' she said, gravely, ``you must prepareyourself for sad news. While you were out yourmother had another hemorrhage, and--and--''

　　``Is she dead?'' asked the boy, his face very pale.

　　``She is dead!''