k, the good lady thought it was full time to make
inquiries with regard to his relations.

She questioned her son George on the subject, and this gallant young
fireman gave her what advice he could.

"No, don't employ detectives, mother," said George. "Somehow I hate the
whole lot of them. Keep Ronald as long as you want to; he's a dear
little chap, and a gentleman by birth, and he loves you too."

"I want to keep him, George; the child is the greatest delight and
comfort to me. He is very unlike other children--very sensitive and
delicate. But I do think that if he has relations they ought to know of
his whereabouts."

"You have questioned him, of course, on the matter," said George
Anderson.

"No--not much; he hasn't been strong enough. I think, too, the severe
illness he has undergone, and the terrible frights he has been subject
to, have to a certain extent affected his mind; and beyond the fact that
he is always looking for his father, and hoping that his father may walk
in, he never talks about the old days."

"Well, mother," said George, "I must be off now; duty time is close at
hand." As he spoke he rose from the seat by the fire which he had been
enjoying in his mother's room.

"Of course, there is little doubt that Major Harvey is dead; but you
could call at the War Office and inquire, mother, couldn't you?"

"Yes, I could and will; and I won't employ detectives, my boy. You may
be certain of one thing--that I don't want to part with the child."

The next day after breakfast, Mrs. Anderson felt that it was time to
question Ronald with regard to his past life.

"You are quite well now, Ronald," she said.

"Yes," said Ronald, "ever so strong. I feel brave, too," he added; "it
would take a very great deal to frighten me now. A soldier's boy should
be brave," he continued, that pleading, pathetic look coming into his
dark eyes, which gave such a special charm to his little face.

"This soldier's boy is very brave," said Mrs. Anderson, patting his
little hand, as the child stood close to her.

"My father was a V. C., ma'am," remarked Ronald in a soft tone.

"You're very proud of that, Ronald--you have good reason to be," said
his friend. "But now, dear, I seriously want to ask you a few questions.
You have told me about Connie, and about some of your dreadful life with
Mammy Warren. I am anxious that you should try to forget all these
terrible things as much as possible."

"Oh! but, please, I neve