Taking him for a newsboy, he called;
"Here, boy! Give me some papers." The lad had so shielded his face from
the rain and the house that he had not seen Mr. Belcher; and when he
looked up he turned pale, and simply said: "I'm not a newsboy;" and then
he ran away as if he were frightened.
There was something in the look that arrested Mr. Belcher's attention.
He was sure he had seen the lad before, but where, he could not
remember. The face haunted him--haunted him for hours, even when in the
cheerful presence of Mrs. Dillingham, with whom he spent a long and
delightful hour. She was rosy, and sweet, and sympathetic in her morning
wrapper--more charming, indeed, than he had ever seen her in evening
dress. She inquired for Mrs. Belcher and the children, and heard with
great good humor his account of his first collision with his New York
servants. When he went out from her inspiring and gracious presence he
found his self-complacency restored. He had simply been hungry for her;
so his breakfast was complete. He went back to his house with a mingled
feeling of jollity and guilt, but the moment he was with his family the
face of the boy returned. Where had he seen him? Why did the face give
him uneasiness? Why did he permit himself to be puzzled by it? No
reasoning, no diversion could drive it from his mind.
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