one in the
parlor wanted to see me.

I went down and found a young man, about twenty-one years of age, who
immediately came to me addressing me as "father," and he then presented
a young woman, about two years older than he was, as his sister and my
daughter. I had not seen this young gentleman since the time when I had
carried him off from school and from the farmer to whom he was bound,
and had clothed him and taken him with me to Amsterdam and Troy,
subsequently sending him to my half-sister at Sidney. The ragged little
lad, as I found him, had grown up into a stout, good-looking young man;
but I had no difficulty in recognizing him, though I was much at loss to
know the precise object of this visit; so after shaking hands with them,
and asking then how they were, I next inquired what they wanted?

Well, they had been to see Henry, and he was a great deal better.

I told them I was very glad to hear it, and that I was then on my way to
visit him, and hoped to see him in a few days, as soon as I could finish
my business in Boston; if Henry was as well as they reported I should
bring him away with me.

"But if you are busy here," said my young man, "we can save you both
time and trouble. We will go to Henry again and settle his bills for
board and other expenses, and will bring him with us to you at this
hotel."

This, at the time, really seemed to me a kindly offer; it would enable
me to stay in Boston and attend to business I had to do, and Henry
would come there with his brother and sister in a day or two. I at once
assented to the plan, and taking my well-filled pocket-book from the
inside breast pocket of my coat, I counted out two hundred and fifty
dollars and gave them to the young man to pay Henry's board, doctor's
and other bills, and the necessary car fares for the party. They then
left me and started, as I supposed, to go after Henry.

But a few days went on and I saw and heard nothing of Henry. At last
word came to me one day that some one down stairs wanted to see me and I
told the servant to send him to my room, hoping that it might be Henry.
But no; it was my young man, of whom I instantly demanded:

"Where is your brother, whom you were to bring to me a week ago? What
have you done with the money I gave you for his bills?"

"I hadn't been near Henry; sister has gone home; and I've spent the
money on a spree, every cent of it, here in Boston, and I want more."

"Want more!" I exclaimed in blank