With reverence he turned the sacred pages until he found the fifty-first psalm, which he read with solemn earnestness, making its humble petitions truly his own.
While Blair was thus employed, Mrs.Robertson was talking in her own kindly way to the stranger.
"So you are an English boy, Hal," she said.

"That will not keep me from loving you, for you know the Bible says we must 'love our enemies;' but I don't believe you are such a very dangerous enemy, after all." Her pleasant smile was like sunshine to the heart of the lonely boy, and his reserve melted away before it.
"I'm Hinglish, because I was born in Hingland," said the boy.

"I couldn't help that; and I couldn't blame my father and mother for it neither, for I never knowed them.

I've been an orphan always.

But I'm an American, because I chose this for my country, and I worked my passage over here, and I haven't begged from anybody." "I'm glad you want to be an American," said Mrs.Robertson gently; "it is a great privilege.