Both remained sitting on the grass. One shook his head. The other said, “No.” The tramp was silent for a moment. Then it occurred to him that his mother had taken his stepfather's name and his sister might be married. Therefore he asked: “How about a family named Coates?” “None here,” replied one of the boys. But the other said, “Coates? That's the name of Tommy Hackett's grandmother.” The tramp drew and expelled a quick, audible breath. “Then,” he said, “this Mrs. Coates must be the mother of Tommy's mother. Do you know what Tommy's mother's first name is?” “I heard Tom call her Alice once.” The tramp's eyes glistened. “And Mr. Coates?” he inquired. “Oh, I never heard of him. I guess he died long ago.” “And Tommy Hackett's father, who's he?” “He's the boss down at the freight station. Agent, I think they call him.” “Where does this Mrs. Coates live?” “She lives with the Hacketts. Would you like to see the house? Me and Dick has to go past it on the way home. We'll show you.” “Yes, I would like to see the house.” The boys arose, one of them rather sleepily. They led the way across the railway company's lot, then along a sparsely built up street, and around the corner into a more populous but quiet highway. At the corner was a grocery and dry-goods store; beyond that were neat and airy two-story houses, fronted by a yard closed in by iron fences. One of these houses had a little piazza, on which sat two children. From the open half-door and from two windows came light. “That's Hackett's house,” said one of the boys. “Thanks, very much,” replied the tramp, continuing to walk with them. The boys looked surprised at his not stopping at the house, but they said nothing. At the next corner the tramp spoke up: “I think I'll go back now. Good night, youngsters.” The boys trudged on, and the tramp retraced his steps. When he reached the Hacketts' house, he paused at the gate. The children, a boy of eight and a girl of six, looked at him curiously from the piazza. “Are you Mr. Hackett's little boy and girl?” he asked. The girl stepped back to the hall door and stood there. The boy looked up at the tramp and answered, “Yes, sir.” “Is your mother in?” “No, she's across the street at Mrs. Johnson's.” “Grandmother's in, though,” continued the boy. “Would you like to see her?” “No, no! Don't call her. I just wanted to see your mother.” “Do you know mamma?” inquired the girl. “Well--no. I knew her brother, your uncle.” “We haven't any uncle--except Uncle George, and he's papa's brother,” said the boy. “What! Not an uncle Will--Uncle Will Kershaw?” “O--h, yes,” assented the boy. “Did you know him before he died? That was a long time ago.” The tramp made no other outward manifestation of his surprise than to be silent and motionless for a time. Presently he said, in a trembling voice: “Yes, before he died. Do you remember when he died?”