Breaking Away by Oliver Optic

I was so nervous and excited after the stirring events of the day, that I could not sleep when I went to bed, tired and almost exhausted as I was. I had enough to think of, and that night has always seemed to me like a new era in my existence. My father was dead; and my mother, somewhere in the wide world, was an occupant of an insane asylum. My uncle had told me I had no property, which was equivalent to informing me that I must soon begin to earn my daily bread, unless he chose to support me.

I would not even then have objected to earning my own living; indeed, there was something pleasurable and exciting in the idea of depending upon myself for my food and raiment; but I was not satisfied with my uncle's statements. I could see no reason why he should not tell me where my father had lived and died, and where my mother was confined as a lunatic. I meant to know all about these things in due time, for it was my right to know.