"I don't think he's any relation. All I know is, I've lived with him ever since I was so high." And Tom indicated with his hand the height of a boy of six. "Then he's never told you anything?" "No. I've asked him sometimes, but he didn't seem to want to speak." When Tom re-entered the room he found the old man crouching in the corner, as at first. "Come, Jacob," he said, cheerfully, "get up; I've got some breakfast for you." The old man's features lighted up as he inhaled the grateful odor of the coffee, and he rose with some effort to his feet, and seated himself at the little table on which our hero placed it. "Now, Jacob," said Tom, cheerfully, "I'll pour you out a cup of coffee. Mrs. Flanagan made it, and it's bully. It'll put new life into you. Then what do you say to a plate of eggs and some roll? I haven't got any butter, but you can dip it in your coffee. Now, isn't this a nice breakfast?" "Yes, Tom," said the old man, surveying the coffee and eggs with eyes of eager desire. "It's nice; but we can't afford to live so all the time." "Never you mind about that; we can afford it this morning; so don't spoil your appetite with thinkin' how much it costs." "Now," said Tom, after he had helped the old man, "I don't mind takin' something myself. I ain't troubled with a delicate appetite, 'specially when I've been up and at work for two hours." "Did you make much, Tom?" "Well, I ain't made my fortune yet. I've earned thirty cents, but I'll make it up to a dollar before noon." "You're a good boy, Tom," said the old man, approvingly. "Don't be afraid of work; I'd work, too, if I wasn't so old. It costs a sight to live, and I don't earn a cent." "There ain't no need of it, Jacob; I can earn enough for the two of us. I'm young and strong. You are old and weak. When I'm an old man, like you, I won't want to work no more." "I ain't so very old," said Jacob, jealously. "I'm only turned sixty-five. There's a good many years of life in me yet." "Of course there is, Jacob," said Tom, though as he looked at his companion's thin, wasted face and shaking hand, he felt very doubtful on this point. "My father lived to be seventy-five," said Jacob. "So will you," said Tom, though, to the boy of fifteen, sixty-five appeared a very advanced age, and but little younger than eighty. "I'll be stronger soon," said Jacob. "The weather ain't suited me." "That's it, Jacob. Now let me give you another cup of coffee. It goes to the right spot, don't it? Don't you be afraid; there's plenty of it." So he filled Jacob's cup once more, and the old man drank the contents with evident relish. "Now don't you feel better?" asked Tom. "Why, you look ten years younger'n you did before you sat down. There's nothing like a bully breakfast to make a feller feel tip-top." "Yes, I do feel better," said Jacob. "I--I think you're right, Tom. If I was rich, I'd always have a good breakfast."