“Yes, but it was a long time ago.  I heard somebody say that he lived in the city here, but he never came out to see us.  Oh, yes, I remember him.  He was a stupid little thing, but that didn’t keep him from being mean.  He oughtn’t to have been taken in here, for he had a father.”

“Did you know his father?”

“Who?  John DeGolyer?  I reckon I did, and he wa’n’t no manner account, nuther.  He had sense enough, but he throw himself away with liquor.  He painted a picture of my youngest sister, and everybody said that it favored her mightily, but John wa’n’t no manner account.”

“Do you remember his wife?”

“Not much.  He married a young creature down the river and broke her heart, folks said.”

“Did you ever see her?”

His voice had suddenly changed, and the old woman looked sharply at him.

“Yes, several times.  She was a tall, frail, black-eyed creature, and she might have done well if she hadn’t ever met John DeGolyer.  But won’t you sit down?”

“No, thank you, I’m going now.  You are the matron, I presume.”

“Yes, sir—­have been now for I hardly know how long.”

“If I send some presents to the children will you see that they are properly distributed?”

“Yes, but for goodness’ sake don’t send any drums or horns.”

“I won’t.  How many boys have you?”

“Well, we’ve got a good many, I can tell you.  You see, this isn’t a regular foundlings’ home.  We take up poor children from most, everywhere.  We’ve got ninety-three boys.”

And how many girls?”

“We’ve got a good many of them, too, I can tell you. 
Seventy-odd—­seventy-five, I think.”

“All right.  Now don’t forget your promise.  Good day, madam.”

He went to a large toy-shop and began to buy in a way that appeared likely to exhaust the stock.

“Where do you live?” asked the proprietor of the shop.

“In Chicago.”

“What, you ain’t going to ship these toys there and try to make anything on them, are you?”

“No; I want them sent out to the Foundlings’ Home.  What’s your bill?”

The man figured up four hundred and ten dollars.  “Come with me to the bank,” said Henry.

“Nearly all you Chicago men are rich,” remarked the toy merchant as they walked along.  “I’ve had a notion to sell out and move there myself.  Chicago’s reaching out after everything, and New Orleans is doing more and more trading with her every year.  I bought a good many of these toys from a Chicago drummer.  He sells everything—­represents a concern called the Colossus.”