kind to him, but it was long since. The one he called by that name
last had been sent to Sing Sing, to the lad's great relief, for a
midnight burglary, shortly after he married Jim's mother. His back hurt
yet when he thought of the evil days when he was around. If any one had
thought it worth while to teach Jim to pray, he would have prayed with
all his might that his father might never come out. But no one did, so
that he was spared that sin. I suppose that was what it would have been
called. I am free to confess that I would have joined Jim in sinning
with a right good will, even to the extent of speeding the benevolent
intentions of Providence in that direction--anyhow, until Jim should be
able to take care of himself. I mean with his fists. He was in a way of
learning that without long delay, for ever since he was a little shaver
he had had to fight his own way, and sometimes his mother's. He was
thirteen when I met him, and most of his time had been put in around the
Rag Gang's quarters, along First Avenue and the river front, where that
kind of learning was abundant and came cheap.

His mother drank. I do not know what made her do it--whether it was the
loss of the first husband, or getting the second, or both. It did not
seem important when she stood there, weak and wretched and humble, with
Jim. And as for my preaching to her, sitting in my easy-chair, well fed
and respectable, that would come near to being impertinence. So it
always struck me. Perhaps I was wrong. Anyway, it would have done her no
good. Too much harm had been done her already. She would disappear for
days, sometimes for weeks at a time, on her frequent sprees. Jim never
made any inquiries. On those occasions he kept aloof from us, and
paddled his own canoe, lest we should ask questions. It was when she had
come home sobered that we saw them always together. Now it was the rent,
and then again a few groceries. With such lifts as she got, sandwiched
in with much good advice, and by the aid of an odd job now and then,
Mrs. Kelly managed to keep a bit of a roof over her boy and herself,
down in the "village" on the river front. At least, Jim had a place to
sleep. Until, one day, our visitor reported that she was gone for
good--she and the boy. They were both gone,--nobody in the neighborhood
knew or cared where,--and the room was vacant. Except that they had not
been dispossessed, we could learn nothing. Jim was not found, and in the
press of many