That low library over there is full of my father's books." Again Peter's voice had a tinge of merriment in it.
"And who supported the family ?" he asked in a lower voice.
"My father." "And who supported him ?" The question brought Jack to a full stop.

He had been running on, pouring out his heart for the first time since his sojourn in New York, and to a listener whom he knew he could trust.
"Why--his salary, of course," answered Jack in astonishment, after a pause.
"Anything else ?" "Yes--the farm." "And who worked that ?" "My father's negroes--some of them his former slaves." "And have you any money of your own--anything your father left you ?" "Only enough to pay taxes on some wild lands up in Cumberland County, and which I'm going to hold on to for his sake." Peter dropped his shading fingers, lifted his body from the depths of the easy chair and leaned forward so that the light fell full on his face.

He had all the information he wanted now.
"And now let me tell you my story, my lad.

It is a very short one.

I had the same sort of a home, but no father--none that I remember--and no mother, they both died before my sister Felicia and I were grown up.
At twelve I left school; at fifteen I worked in a country store--up at daylight and to bed at midnight, often.