Bart's heart was pretty full. He was alive with tenderness
and love for this loyal, patient parent who had not been over kindly
handled by the world in a money way.
Then a dozen loud explosions over on the hill, followed by boyish shouts
of enthusiasm, made Bart remember that he was a boy, with all a boy's
lively interest in the Fourth of July foremost in his thoughts, and he
bounded down the tracks like a whirlwind.
CHAPTER II
"WAKING THE NATIVES!"
Turning the corner of the in-freight house Bart came to a quick halt.
He had nearly run down a man who sat between the rails tying his shoe.
The minute Bart set his eyes on the fellow he remembered having seen him
twice before--both times in this vicinity, both times looking wretched,
dejected and frightened.
The man started up, frightened now. He was about forty years old, very
shabby and threadbare in his attire, his thin pale face nearly covered
with a thick shock of hair and full black beard.
"Hello!" challenged Bart promptly.
"Oh, it's you, young Stirling," muttered the man, the haunted expression
in his eyes giving way to one of relief.
"Found a job yet?" asked Bart.
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