his mother.

This intelligence changed, or rather made definite my plan. Sarah was
nothing to me now. The boy was everything. I must see him, and if he was
what he was represented to be, a bright little fellow, I determined that
he should no longer remain in the hands and under the control of his
drunken step-father, but I would carry him away with me if I could. It
was nearly noon when we arrived at Oxford, and going to my old quarters,
I found that "Boston Yankee," had long since left the place. There was
a new landlord, and I saw no familiar faces about the house; all was new
and strange to me. I made inquiries, and soon found out that Sarah's
boy went to a school in town not far from the hotel, and I went there to
"prospect," leaving Henry at the public house.

It was noon now, and fifty or more boys were trooping out of school. I
carefully scanned the throng. The old proverb has it that it is a wise
child who knows its own father; but it is not so difficult for a father
to know his own children. The moment I put my eyes on Sarah's son, I
knew him; he was the very image of me; I could have picked him out of a
thousand. I beckoned to the boy and he came to me. He was barefoot; and
his very toes betrayed him, for they "overrode" just as mine did; but
his face was enough and would have been evidence of his identity as my
son in any court in Christendom.

"Do you know me, my little man?" said I.

"No, sir, I do not."

"Do you know what was your mother's name before she was married?"

"Yes Sir, it was Sarah Scheimer."

"Do you know that the man with whom you live is not your rather?"

"Oh, yes, Sir, I know that; mother always told me so; but she never told
me who my father was."

"My son," said I taking him in my arms, "I am your father; wait about
here a few minutes till I can go and get my horse and carriage, and I
will take you to ride."

I ran over to the hotel; ordered my horse to be brought to the door at
once, got into the wagon with Henry and told him that Sarah Scheimer's
boy was just across the way, and that I was going to carry him off with
us. Henry implored me not to do it, and said it was dangerous. I never
stopped to think of danger when my will impelled me. I did not know that
at that moment, men who had noticed my excited manner, and who knew I
was "up to something," were watching me from the hotel piazza. I drove
over where the boy was waiting, called him to me, and Henry held the
reins whi