of this home, taken at another season of the year,
and from a different point of view, that his mother
and brother had noticed, and yet failed to identify,
when Tony’s pictures were inspected. Fred’s
wife dying, leaving a little boy, Antonio, four years
old, Fred wished to return to America, but concluded
to remain in Italy, educating his boy in English as
well as Italian. A year before this story opens,
he wrote his mother that he was about to sail for
a port in Algeria. It was a wild business enterprise,
and he sent his little boy, Antonio, with friends—also
named Blanco—to New York, expecting soon
to follow them, and desiring in the meantime to make
sure of a good home for Antonio. During his absence
in Africa he wrote home, but his letters miscarried.
Nothing had been heard since the day he sailed from
Italy, and his old mother anxiously thought of him
on stormy nights, fearing lest he had gone down into
the wide grave of the sea. The Blanco family that
cared for Tony in New York, obliged to leave the city
by the failure of their work, came to Seamont to find
it there awhile. When they returned to New York,
as Tony was attached to Seamont, they left him with
the Badger family for awhile. They were waiting
to hear from Tony’s father about his plans for
the boy, when he appeared in an unexpected fashion
to look directly after Tony, and visit also his relatives;
but they and the club were sorry to know that, contrary
to his wishes, he must go back to Italy, and take Tony
with him.
“Ah, now I understand about that boy,”
said Mr. Walton, to his mother; “why he looked
familiar, and if the people who brought him had had
a different name, I might have looked into it, but
I thought they must be relatives. Of course,
not hearing from Fred, we had no thought that his
child was here.”
And the mother said, “I hope my boy will now
take his true name, and come again soon, and bring
Antonio Walton with him.”
But would he and Tony ever come again? Tony came
to bid good-bye to Charlie, and said, very soberly
and touchingly, “We’d better kiss each
other, for I feel that we shall never see each other
again. Good-bye, for we shall never see each
other any more.”
It was a very pathetic speech, and Charlie said, mournfully,
as he kissed him, “Well, good-bye, Tony.”
Tony and his father went to Italy in a bark that left
Seamont bound for the Mediterranean. Charlie
watched the vessel from the barn window.
Like a gull that flying afar sinks lower and then
disappears behind some rising billow, so the sails
of the bark, receding farther and farther, vanished
behind that blue rim of the horizon that rises up to
check our sight and hide away the vessels that may
hold our dearest hopes.
CHAPTER XX.
THE BOUND HIGHER UP.