"Isn't that funny, Father?" cried Helen. "Right where we are going--
Scarboro."

"If the wallet is his," muttered Mr. Cameron.

"What do you mean, sir?" questioned Ruth, quickly. "Do you think he
is a bad boy--that he has taken the wallet----"

"Now, now!" exclaimed Mr. Cameron, smiling at her again. "Don't
jump at conclusions, Mistress Ruth Fielding. I have no suspicion
regarding the lad----How is the patient, Aunt Alviry?" he added,
quickly, as the little old woman came hobbling out of the bedroom
where the strange boy lay.

"Oh, my back, and oh, my bones!" said Aunt Alviry, under her breath.
But she welcomed Mr. Cameron warmly enough, too. "He's getting on
fine," she declared. "He'll be all right soon. I reckon he won't
suffer none in the end for his wetting. I'm a-goin' to cook him a
mess of gruel, for I believe he's hungry."

"Who is he, Aunt Alviry?" asked the gentleman. Aunt Alvirah Boggs
was "everybody's Aunt Alviry," although she really had no living kin,
and Mr. Jabez Potter had brought her from the almshouse ten years or
more before to act as his housekeeper.

"Dunno," said Aunt Alvirah, shaking her head in answer to Mr.
Cameron's question. "Ain't the first idee. You kin go in and talk to
him, sir."