“By the way, Mrs. Bradley,” said John Wade, “how came my uncle to engage that boy to read to him?”

“He was led into it, sir,” said the housekeeper, with a great deal of indignation, “by the boy himself.  He’s an artful and designing fellow, you may rely upon it.”

“What’s his name?”

“Frank Fowler.”

“Fowler!  Is his name Fowler?” he repeated, with a startled expression.

“Yes, sir,” answered the housekeeper, rather surprised at his manner.  “You don’t know anything about him, do you?”

“Oh, no,” said John Wade, recovering his composure.  “He is a perfect stranger to me; but I once knew a man of that name, and a precious rascal he was.  When you mentioned his name, I thought he might be a son of this man.  Does he say his father is alive?”

“No; he is dead, and his mother, too, so the boy says.”

“You haven’t told me how my uncle fell in with him?”

“It was an accident.  Your uncle fell in getting out of a Broadway stage, and this boy happened to be near, and seeing Mr. Wharton was a rich gentleman, he helped him home, and was invited in.  Then he told some story about his poverty, and so worked upon your uncle’s feelings that he hired him to read to him at five dollars a week.”

“Is this all the boy does?”

“No; he is cash-boy in a large store on Broadway.  He is employed there all day, and he is here only in the evenings.”

“Does my uncle seem attached to him?” asked John.

“He’s getting fond of him, I should say.  The other day he asked me if I didn’t think it would be a good thing to take him into the house and give him a room.  I suppose the boy put it into his head.”

“No doubt.  What did you say?”

“I opposed it.  I told him that a boy would be a great deal of trouble in the family.”

“You did right, Mrs. Bradley.  What did my uncle say?”

“He hinted about taking him from the store and letting him go to school.  The next thing would be his adopting him.  The fact is, Mr. John, the boy is so artful that he knows just how to manage your uncle.  No doubt he put the idea into Mr. Wharton’s head, and he may do it yet.”

“Does my uncle give any reason for the fancy he has taken to the boy?” demanded John.

“Yes,” said the housekeeper.  “He has taken it into his head that the boy resembles your cousin, George, who died abroad.  You were with him, I believe?”

“Yes, I was with him.  Is the resemblance strong?  I took very little notice of him.”

“You can look for yourself when you go back,” answered the housekeeper.

“What else did my uncle say?  Tell me all.”

“He said:  ’What would I give, Mrs. Bradley, if I had such a grandson?  If George’s boy had lived, he would have been about Frank’s age.  And,” continued the housekeeper, “I might as well speak plainly.  You’re my master’s heir, or ought to be; but if this artful boy stays here long, there’s no knowing what your uncle may be influenced to do.  If he gets into his dotage, he may come to adopt him, and leave the property away from you.”