"Who is that boy, papa?" he asked.

 

"I have brought him here to stay with you. Shall you like to have his company?"

 

"Yes, papa. You know it is very lonely while you are away. What is his name?"

 

The outlaw² looked at Ernest significantly. He took the hint and answered, "My name is Ernest Ray."

 

"How old are you, Ernest?" went on the boy.

 

"Sixteen."

 

"I am only ten."

 

"Are you ready to get up, Frank?" asked his father.

 

"Yes," answered the young boy briskly. "I got sleepy because I was alone. Where did papa find you, Ernest?"

 

"Oh, I met him outside, and he took me to ride."

 

James Fox looked approval of this answer.

 

"I am glad you came with him. You seem like a nice boy, Ernest."

 

"So do you, Frank."

 

By this time Frank had slid from the bed and put his hand in Ernest's.

 

"Come here," he said, "and I will show you my books."

 

Led by his small companion, Ernest went up to a bookcase which he had not before observed in the main room. About thirty books stood on the shelves.

 

"Where did you get your books?" he asked.

 

"Papa bought them for me in Minneapolis. Were you ever in Minneapolis?"

 

"No."

 

"It is a nice place. Sometimes I think I would like to live there instead of here."

 

"You are not getting tired of home, are you, Frank?" asked his father, half reproach fully³.

 

"No, papa, but it is lonely here sometimes. Am I to live here always?"

 

"No, Frank. Some time I will send you to school. But you won't see me every day then."

 

"Then I don't want to go."

 

The outlaw stooped over and kissed the boy.

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