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."