Sarah
was nothing to me now. The boy was everything. I must see him, and
if he was what he was represented to be, a bright little fellow, I
determined that he should no longer remain in the hands and under
the control of his drunken step-father, but I would carry him away
with me if I could. It was nearly noon when we arrived at Oxford,
and going to my old quarters, I found that "Boston Yankee," had long
since left the place. There was a new landlord, and I saw no
familiar faces about the house; all was new and strange to me. I
made inquiries, and soon found out that Sarah's boy went to a school
in town not far from the hotel, and I went there to "prospect,"
leaving Henry at the public house.
It was noon now, and fifty or more boys were trooping out of school.
I carefully scanned the throng. The old proverb has it that it is a
wise child who knows its own father; but it is not so difficult for
a father to know his own children. The moment I put my eyes on
Sarah's son, I knew him; he was the very image of me; I could have
picked him out of a thousand. I beckoned to the boy and he came to
me. He was barefoot; and his very toes betrayed him, for they
"overrode" just as mine did; but his face was enough and would have
been evidence of his identity as my son in any court in Christendom.
"Do you know me, my little man?" said I.
"No, sir, I do not."
"Do you know what was your mother's name before she was married?"
"Yes Sir, it was Sarah Scheimer."
"Do you know that the man with whom you live is not your rather?"
"Oh, yes, Sir, I know that; mother always told me so; but she never
told me who my father was.
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