The train dashed on through the night, rumbling, rocking, waking the echoes now and then with its screaming whistle, and finally it pulled into the station at Pittston.

True to his bargain, Ralph stepped from the train. Two or three other people left it at the same time and hurried away up the street; then the puffing engine pulled the cars out again into the darkness.

The boy stood, for a moment or two, wondering what he should do now. The chill night air made him shiver, and he turned toward the waiting-room. But the lights were already out there, and the station-master had locked himself into his office. Off to the left he saw the street lamps of West Pittston, dotting the blackness here and there like dim, round stars; and between them and him the dark water of the river reflected the few lights that shone on it. Finally, Ralph walked down the length of the platform and turned up the street at the end of it.

In a minute or two he had reached Main Street, and stood looking up and down it, trying to decide which way to go. On the other side, and a little to the right, he saw a man standing on the corner, under a street lamp, and looking at him.

He was an honest-looking man, Ralph thought; may be he would tell him what to do. He crossed over and went down to where the man stood.

"Please, mister," he said, "I'd like to find a place to stay all night."

The man looked down on him wonderingly, but not unkindly.

"Is it a hotel ye're after?" he asked.

"Well, not hardly. I ain't got any money. I only want a place to stay where I won't be in the dark an' cold alone all night."

"Do ye belong in Pittston, I don' no'?"

"No, I live in Scranton."

"Sure, the train jist wint for there. Why didn't ye go with it?"

"Well, you see, I didn't have any ticket, an' the conductor, he told me to--to--he asked me if I wouldn't jest as lieve git off here."

The man gave a low whistle.

"Come along with me," he said, "it's little I can do for yez, but it's better nor the strate." He led the way up the pavement of the side street a few steps, unlocked a door and entered a building, and Ralph followed him.

They seemed to be in a sort of retiring room for the use of the adjoining offices. A gas light was burning dimly. There was a table in the room, and there were some chairs. Some engineering tools stood in one corner, some mining tools in another; caps were hanging on the wall, and odds and ends of many kinds were scattered about.

The man took down a heavy overcoat, and spread it on the table.

"There," he said, "ye can slape on that."

"That'll be very nice," said Ralph; "it'll be a sight better'n stayin'

out in the street all night."

"Right ye are, me lad! Compose yoursilf now. Good-night, an' swate drames to yez! I'm the watchman; I'll be out an' in; it's nothing here that'll hurt ye, sure; good-night!" and the man went out, and locked the door after him.

It was warm in the room, and very comfortable, and it was not long after the boy laid down on the improvised bed before he was sound asleep. He did not wake until the day began to dawn, and the watchman came in and shook him; and it was some moments after he was roused before he could make out just where he was. But he remembered the situation, finally, and jumped down on to the floor.

"I've had a good sleep," he said. "I'm a great deal obliged to you."

"Don't shpake of it, lad," said the man; "don't shpake of it. Will ye wash up a bit?"

"Yes, I would like to," replied Ralph, "very much."

He was shown the way to the basin and water, and after a few moments he came back fresh and clean.

"Ye wouldn't like a bit to ate now, would ye?" asked the watchman, who had been busying himself about the room.

"Oh, I can get along very well without it," replied the boy; "you've done enough for me."

"Whin did ye ate last?"

"Well, it must 'a' been some after noon yestaday."

The man went to a closet and took down a dinner-pail.

"I've a bit left o' me last-night's dinner," said he; "an' av ye're the laste bit hungry ye'll not be makin' me carry it home with me." He had spread a newspaper on the table, and had laid out the pieces of food upon it.

"Oh, I am hungry!" responded Ralph, looking eagerly over the tempting array. "I'm very hungry; but you've been too good to me already, an'

you don't know me, either."

The man turned his face toward the door, and stood for a minute without speaking. Then he said, huskily:--

"Ate it lad, ate it. Bless your sowl, there's a plinty more where that come from."

The boy needed no further urging. He ate the food with great relish, while the watchman stood by and looked on approvingly. When the meal was finished, Ralph said:--

"Now, I'll be a-goin'. I can't never thank you enough. Maybe I can do sumpthin' for you, some time, but--"

"Howld your tongue, now! Didn't I tell ye not to shpake of it?"

The boy opened the door and looked out upon the dawning day.

"Ain't it nice!" he said. "I can git along splendid in the daylight.

I ain't afraid, but it's awful lonesome in the dark, 'specially when you're away from home this way."

"An' where do ye be goin' now?" inquired the watchman.

"Home; to Scranton. I can walk there, so long as it's daylight. Oh! I can git along beautiful now. Which is the bes' way to go?"

The man looked down at him wonderingly for a moment. "Well, ye do bate the--the--the prisidint!" he said, going with him to the corner of the street. "Now, thin, go up the strate straight,--I mean straight up the strate,--turn nayther to the right nor the lift, an whin the strate inds, follow the road up the river, an' be it soon or late ye'll come to Scranton."

"Thank you! Good-by. I'll al'ays remember you."

"Good-by, me lad! an' the saints attind ye!"

They shook hands cordially, and Ralph started up the street on his long journey toward home, while the watchman turned back to his duties, with his heart full of kindness and his eyes full of tears.

But he never, never forgot the homeless lad whom he fed and sheltered that autumn night.

CHAPTER IX.