Mark Manning's Mission

"I am afraid he did when he was very far gone, but, poor thing! she never complained. She always looked sad, though, and she didn't enjoy her life very much."

"Did she ever speak of her father?"

"Once only. She told me she had ill-treated, him, and been a disobedient daughter. I think it was in marrying Ransom."

"Did she ever write to him?"

"She told me she did once, but never received an answer. 'He won't forgive me,' she said, with a sigh, and never wrote again."

"I am sure he did not receive the letter, Mrs. Finn. If he had, he would have noticed it."

"I hope so; at any rate she was sadder than ever when no letter came to her in return. Finally, her husband took sick with a fever. Bad as he had been to her, she nursed him like a devoted wife as she was. But she couldn't save him. Hardly was he dead, when she, too, caught sick, and in the end she died. While she was sick I took little Jack home, for fear he would catch the fever too. I was thinking of adopting him after his mother's death, when the man I spoke of called and took away the boy, saying he would provide for him."

"And that was—how many years ago?"

"Nearly six, I think."

"And I suppose you have neither seen nor heard of him since?"

Mrs. Finn shook her head.

"Where does little Jack's grandfather live?" she asked.

"Near New York."

"Is he a rich man?"

"Moderately rich. He is well able to take care of his grandson, if he could find him."

"I wish I could tell you more, I am sure," said Mrs. Finn heartily. "If the poor boy yet lives, Heaven knows what his condition may be. If you could find the man that took him away–"

"I can," answered Mark.

"Then why don't you go to him, and ask him where to find the child?"

"Because it is against his interests to have him found. He and the little boy are the only heirs to the grandfather's property. His uncle has good reason to dislike him, and if the boy is found, Lyman Taylor will get nothing, I feel sure."

"Well, well! What wickedness there is in the world!" ejaculated Mrs. Finn. "What will you do?"

"I don't know. I shall have to consider."

"Did the grandfather send you out here?"

"Yes."

"Excuse my remarking that you are very young to undertake such a responsible task."

"I think so myself, Mrs. Finn," Mark answered, modestly. "But it so happened that he hadn't much choice. I shall do my best, and if I can't find him, I shall go home and report, and advise Mr. Taylor to send an older and more competent person."

"You won't be offended by what I said?"

"Certainly not. Any one would think as you do. Is there any other information you can give me, Mrs. Finn?"

Mrs. Finn shook her head.

"I am afraid not," she said.

"You are sure the boy was carried to St. Louis?"

"Quite certain."

"I might go to St. Louis, but without any clue I am afraid I should stand little chance of succeeding."

"You might advertise."

"That is true," said Mark. "Indeed, it appears to be the only thing I can do. How old would the boy be now?"

"About eight years old, I think."

"Thank you."

Mark took out a small memorandum book, and noted down the small amount of information he had obtained.

It did not appear to be much, and yet it was of great importance. He had ascertained that Mrs. Ransom had left a child, and moreover that Lyman Taylor had been aware of the fact, and had conspired to keep its existence from old Anthony.

"Does he know where it is now?" Mark asked himself.

Mark was inclined to think not. Shortly after the boy was carried away, Lyman had gone East, got into trouble, and served a term of some years in a prison.

During those years, probably the boy had drifted out of his knowledge. Doubtless he could furnish a clue, but for obvious reasons, it would not do to apply to him.

"I am very much obliged to you for your information," said Mark, as he rose to go.

"You are heartily welcome, sir. Would you mind writing me, if you find out anything about poor Jack?"

"I will certainly do so, Mrs. Finn. I shall lose no time in going to St. Louis."

"Heaven speed you, and bring you success," said Mrs. Finn, fervently.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE LITTLE MATCH BOY

"Matches! Matches! Here's your nice matches!" was heard in a shrill treble, proceeding from a little boy on Clark Street, in Chicago.

He looked thin and pale, and it was easy to see the poor little fellow was poorly fed, as well as ill-clad.

"Only five cents a package!" the little fellow continued to cry; and he looked wistfully in the faces of those who passed him, hoping for a possible purchaser.