“Grandma,” he began, “what is a pauper?”

“Oh, it is a person who has no home, and no money, and has to live upon others,” was the reply.

“Am I a pauper, grandma?” and the boy’s face flushed.

“You a pauper!” Mrs. Royal exclaimed, as she sat down upon a chair by the side of the bed.  “What makes you ask such a question, dear?  Whoever put such an idea into your head?”

“Tom Dunker said that I am a pauper.”

“He did!  When did he tell you that?”

“To-day, just before he hit me with his whip and made the mark upon my cheek.”

“Oh!”

It was all that Mrs. Royal could say.  She had become suddenly aroused, feeling sure that something of a serious nature had happened that day.

“Why did he call you a pauper, dear?” she at length asked as calmly as possible.

“’Cause I told him I didn’t scare his horses, and make them jump.  He got mad, and said I was a pauper, and should be in the Poor House instead of living with decent people.  And he said that I didn’t know who my father and mother are, and that I would be ashamed of them if I did, that’s what he said.”

Into Mrs. Royal’s eyes came an expression of deep concern, mingled with indignation.

“You poor boy,” she soothed, taking his little left hand in hers.  “You have had great troubles to-day, have you not?”

“But am I a pauper, grandma?” the boy insisted.

“No, you certainly are not, dear.”

“And I shouldn’t be in the Poor House?”

“No, no.  You are just where you should be, with grandad and me.”

“And my father and mother are not bad, and I wouldn’t be ashamed of them if I saw them?”

“No, not at all.  I never heard of your father, so I think he must be dead.  But I believe that your mother is a good, noble woman.”

“Why doesn’t she come to see me, then?”

“I do not know, dear.  But she says that she will come some day.  She longs to see you, and in every letter she writes she asks so many questions about you.  I have read some of them to you.  She wrote many when you were very little, and I have kept every one.”

“Have you, grandma?  I am so glad.  Will you read them to me sometimes?”

“Yes, dear, I shall read you one or two every night.”

“Oh, that will be so nice.  And I am glad that Tom Dunker was wrong.  He didn’t know about my mother, did he?”

“No, dear.”

“Do you think Captain Josh knows, grandma?”

“Why, what makes you think that, Rodney?”

“’Cause he was so kind to me to-day.  He took my part, and then brought me such a nice lunch.”

“Brought you a lunch!” Mrs. Royal exclaimed, in surprise.  “What do you mean?”

“Well, you see, when the horses ran over the dinner you gave me this morning it was all knocked out in the road, and I had nothing to eat, so Captain Josh brought me such a nice lunch.”