A little boy had lost both parents by death. There were no
relatives to care for him, and a place had therefore been found
for him with a family in the country.
It was a ride of several miles to the strange home, and the
farmer, who had agreed to transport him thither noticed that the
little fellow sitting so shyly beside him in the great wagon
often thrust his hand into his worn blouse as if to make sure of
some treasure. Curiosity at last prompted the man to ask what
it was. He had been kind during the journey, and so the child
hesitatingly confided his secret.
“It’s just a piece of mother’s dress. When I get kind--kind o’
lonesome--I like to feel it. Most seems ’s if she--wasn’t so far
off.”
(2679)