Horatio Alger

“ Brent.
"Yes," answered Philip in a dazed tone.
"Perhaps," she said triumphantly, "you will doubt my word now."
"May I have this picture?" asked Philip, without answering her.
"Yes; you have as good a claim to it as any one."
"And the paper?"
"The paper I prefer to keep myself," said Mrs. Brent, nodding her head suspiciously. "I don't care to have my only proof destroyed."
Philip did not seem to take her meaning, but with the daguerreotype in his hand, he left the room.
"I say, mother," chuckled Jonas, his freckled face showing his enjoyment, "it's a good joke on Phil, isn't it?" ”

“ Brent's?"
"You are getting on too fast. Jonas," continued his mother, suddenly turning to her hulking son, on whose not very intelligent countenance there was an expression of greedy curiosity, "do you understand that what I am going to say is to be a secret, not to be spoken of to any one?"
"Yes'm," answered Jonas readily.
"Very well. Now to proceed. Philip, you have heard probably that when you were very small your father--I mean Mr. Brent--lived in a small town in Ohio, called Fultonville?" ”

“ The few who stopped at his house were business men from towns near by, or drummers from the great cities, who had occasion to stay over a night. One evening, however, a gentleman arrived with an unusual companion--in other words, a boy of about three years of age. ”