he sweet voice as
he asked again: "Do you like Pete's friends?"

"Yes, indeed, I like your friends," replied Mr. Howitt, heartily;
"and I would like to be your friend too, if you will let me. What
is your other name?"

The boy shook his head; "Not me; not me;" he said; "do you like
Pete?"

The man was puzzled. "Are you not Pete?" he asked.

The delicate face grew sad: "No, no, no," he said in a low moaning
tone; "I'm not Pete; Pete, he lives in here;" he touched himself
on the breast. "I am--I am--" A look of hopeless bewilderment
crept into his eyes; "I don't know who I am; I'm jest nobody.
Nobody can't have no name, can he?" He stood with downcast head;
then suddenly he raised his face and the shadows lifted, as he
said, "But Pete he knows, Mister, ask Pete."

A sudden thought came to Mr. Howitt. "Who is your father, my boy?"

Instantly the brightness vanished; again the words were a puzzled
moan; "I ain't got no father, Mister; I ain't me; nobody can't
have no father, can he?"

The other spoke quickly; "But Pete had a father; who was Pete's
father?" Instantly the gloom was gone and the face was bright
again. "Sure, Mister, Pete's got a father; don't you know?
Everybody knows that. Look!" He pointed upward to a break in the
trees, to a large cumulus cloud that had assumed a fantastic
shape. "He lives in them white hills, up there. See him, Mister?
Sometimes he takes Pete with him up through the sky, and course I
go along. We sail, and sail, and sail, with the big bird things up
there, while the sky things sing; and sometimes we play with the
cloud things, all day in them white hills. Pete says he'll take me
away up there where the star things live, some day, and we won't
never come back again; and I won't be nobody no more; and Aunt
Mollie says she reckons Pete knows. 'Course, I'd hate mighty much
to go away from Uncle Matt and Aunt Mollie and Matt and Sammy,
'cause they're mighty good to me; but I jest got to go where Pete
goes, you see, 'cause I ain't nobody, and nobody can't be nothin',
can he?"

The stranger was fascinated by the wonderful charm of the boy's
manner and words. As the lad's sensitive face glowed or was
clouded by each wayward thought, and the music of his sweet voice
rose and fell, Mr. Howitt told himself that one might easily fancy
the child some wandering spirit of the woods and hills. Aloud, he
asked, "Has Pete a mother, too?"

The youth nodded toward the big pine that grew to one s