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Updated: May 1, 2025
There were no books in the Fowleys' kitchen, and none of the children went to Sunday school regularly. Just for a week or two before the annual treat, or Christmas tree, they would go in great force, but Dick could not be spared. But he had one other little book that was kept as a hidden treasure his mother's Bible, that she had left to him.
Paddy had worked there for years, and had found out Dick's intense love for engines and his secret ambition, some day, to be a stoker, too. And the Irishman's warm heart had often been made angry by the Fowleys' unkind treatment of the boy.
I must wait till he is big enough to go too, and then I can have him for my very, very own." Dick was thirteen, and small for his age, but his mental powers were keen, and he knew that if he stayed with the Fowleys he would have no chance to get on in life. And looking up into the blue summer sky, he prayed to his heavenly Father to help him to get away.
And in that he had learned how to be a true Lionheart and a good soldier of Jesus Christ. And every day he managed to read a few verses at least. Now, as the sultry afternoon wore away, and the baby still slept, he thought again and again of the discovery he had made, that he did not really belong to the Fowleys.
And more by token he's a fitter, and would put you in the way of the same trade, and give you engines to your heart's content." Dick's face was a study, as he held the puppy closely in his arms and looked up eagerly at Paddy. "Do you mean that the Fowleys are not relations, and that I'm not beholden to stay there?"
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