'Why, whoever gave you it?' I asked.
'It isn't Jack's own organ,' said the child.
'Whose is it, then?'
'It's father's, father's own organ.'
It seemed to me a most extraordinary thing for the mission preacher of
Runswick Bay to have in his possession, but I did not like to ask any
more questions at that time.
However, in the afternoon my little friend called to me over, the wall,
'Big Mr. Jack, come here.'
'Come where, my little man?'
'Come inside and look at father's organ; I'll play it to you, Mr. Jack.'
'What will father say if I come in?'
'Father's out.'
'What will mother say?'
'Mother's out too.'
I did not much relish the idea of entering a man's house in his absence,
but such plaintive entreaties came from the other side of the wall. Over
and over again he pleaded, 'Do come, Mr. Jack; do come quick, Mr. Jack!'
that at last, to please the child, I left my work for a few minutes and
went up the steps which led to the gate of their garden.
It was only a small place, but very prettily laid out.
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