“I know as leetle of your sackcloth and ashes as you know of me, mister--I mean, Deacon Cornhill. Reckon I was older when I was born ’n many are when they die. I thought it proper for me to give you the name that b’longs to me where you found me. Mother calls me Rob.” “That sounds more Christian-like. Robert is a good old family name. What name did your father have?” “I couldn’t begin to ’numerate ’em, mis--I mean, deacon. I reckon he’s had a good round dozen, first and last.” “Sho! but you don’t mean it! Where is he?” “Dunno.” “What! Don’t know where your father is? How long have you lived this harum-scarum life?” “As long as I can remember. Push that foot out a leetle furder.” “And you like it?” “Don’t know any other, deacon.” The good man from Basinburg groaned, saying after a minute: “It’s too bad--too bad! You seem like a proper sort of a boy, with the right kind of management.” “I shouldn’t want to bank on your judgment, squire--I mean deacon--seeing the way you let them sharpers pull the wool over your eyes.” Deacon Cornhill relapsed into silence, while he watched the swift, dexterous movements of the cheerful bootblack, who began to sing a snatch of song. He was one of those broad-minded, whole-souled men who never see another in lowly circumstances without wanting to lift him up. The frank honesty of Little Hickory, as the boy persisted in being known, had won his confidence, and to have done that was to insure a friendship not to be swerved from its purpose. A new light came over his florid countenance, as he pondered, and forgetting him at work on his boot, he sprang suddenly to his feet, exclaiming: “I’ll do it!” Though taken completely by surprise at this frantic action, Little Hickory caught him by the wrist, and with the strength one would not have looked for in the youthful arm, he flung him back upon the bench, crying sharply: “No, you don’t, till I get that other schooner in proper trim. You’d look well, wouldn’t you, with ’em in such shape?” “Forgive me, my son.” “‘My son!’ Forsooth, as the play-actor says: None of your soft solder on me. All I ask is for you to keep still till I can put the polish on this other brogan.” It is needless to say that Deacon Cornhill obeyed, and not until the young workman was done did he say: “I don’t exactly get the hang of you, my dear boy----” “Hold right on there, deacon. If you have got anything to say, leave off the finery, and cut the garment plain. I ain’t much on soap, but I’m honest clear through. Go ahead with your tongue notions.” “Rob,” resumed the other, recalling the fact that the boy had given at least so much of a name, “I ain’t going to perlaver. I want you to go hum with me.” Little Hickory showed his surprise without speaking.