"How'd you find out who you was, anyway?"

"Why, my lawyer told me," was the reply.

"How'd he find out?"

"Well, a man told him."

"What man?"

"Now, look here, fellows!" said Ralph, "I ain't goin' to tell you everything. It'd predujuice my case too much. I can't do it, I got no right to."

Then a doubting Thomas arose.

"I ain't got nothin' agin him," he began, referring to Ralph, "he's a good enough feller--for a slate-picker, for w'at I know; but that's all he is; he ain't a Burnham, no more'n I be, if he was he wouldn't be a-workin' here in the dirt; it ain't reason'ble."

Before Ralph could reply, some one took up the cudgel for him.

"Yes, he is too,--a Burnham. My father says he is, an' Lawyer Sharpman says he is, an' you don't know nothin' 'bout it."

Whereupon a great confusion of voices arose, some of the boys denying Ralph's claim of a right to partic.i.p.ate in the privileges allotted to the Burnham family, while most of them vigorously upheld it.

Finally, Ralph made his voice heard above the uproar:--

"Boys," he said, "they ain't no use o' quarrellin'; we'll all find out the truth about it 'fore very long. I'm a-goin' to stay here an' work in the breaker till the thing's settled, an' I want you boys to use me jest as well as ever you did, an' I'll treat you jest the same as I al'ays have; now, ain't that fair?"

"Yes, that's fair!" shouted a dozen boys at a time. "Hooray for Ralph Burnham!" added another; "hooray!"

The cheers were given with a will, then the breaker bell rang, and the boys flocked back to their work.

Ralph was as good as his word. Every morning he came and took his place on the bench, and picked slate ten hours a day, just as the other boys did; and though the subject of his coming prosperity was often discussed among them, there was never again any malice or bitterness in the discussion.

But the days and weeks and months went by. The snows of winter came, and the north winds howled furiously about the towering heights of Burnham Breaker. Morning after morning, before it was fairly light, Ralph and Bachelor Billy trudged through the deep snow on their way to their work, or faced the driving storms as they plodded home at night.

And still, so far as these two could see, and they talked the matter over very often, no progress was being made toward the restoration of Ralph to his family and family rights.

Sharpman had explained why the delay was expedient, not to say necessary; and, though the boy tried to be patient, and was very patient indeed, yet the unquiet feeling remained in his heart, and grew.

But at last there was progress. A pet.i.tion had been presented to the Orphans' Court, asking for a citation to Margaret Burnham, as administrator of her husband's estate, to appear and show cause why she should not pay over to Ralph's guardian a sufficient sum of money to educate and maintain the boy in a manner befitting his proper station in life. An answer had been put in by Mrs. Burnham's attorney, denying that Ralph was the son of Robert Burnham, and an issue had been asked for to try that disputed fact. The issue had been awarded, and the case certified to the Common Pleas for trial, and placed on the trial list for the May term of court.

As the time for the hearing approached, the preparations for it grew more active and incessant about Sharpman's office.

Old Simon had taken up his abode in Scranton for the time being, and was on hand frequently to inform and advise. Witnesses from distant points had been subpoenaed, and Ralph, himself, had been called on several occasions to the lawyer's office to be interrogated about matters lying within his knowledge or memory.

The question of the boy's ident.i.ty had become one of the general topics of conversation in the city, and, as the time for the trial approached, public interest in the matter ran high.

In those days the courts were held at Wilkesbarre for the entire district. Lackawanna County had not yet been erected out of the northern part of Luzerne, with Scranton as its county seat.

There were several suits on the list for the May term that were to be tried before the Burnham case would come on, so that Ralph did not find it necessary to go to Wilkesbarre until Thursday of the first week of court.

Bachelor Billy accompanied him. He had been subpoenaed as a witness, and he was glad to be able to go and to have an opportunity to care for the boy during the time of the trial.

Spring comes early in the valley of the Susquehanna; and, as the train dashed along, Ralph, looking from the open window of the car, saw the whole country white with the blossoms of fruit-bearing trees. The rains had been frequent and warm, and the springing vegetation, rich and abundant, reflected its bright green in the waters of the river along all the miles of their journey. The spring air was warm and sweet, white clouds were floating in the sky, birds were darting here and there among the branches of the trees, wild flowers were unfolding their modest beauty in the very shadow of the iron rails. Ralph saw and felt it all, his spirit rose into accord with nature, and hope filled his heart more abundantly than it ever had before.

When he and Bachelor Billy went into the court-room that afternoon, Sharpman met them and told them that their case would probably not be reached that day, the one immediately preceding it having already taken much more time in the trial than had been expected. But he advised them not to leave the city. So they went out and walked about the streets a little, then they wandered down along the river bank, and sat there looking out upon the water and discussing the method and probable outcome of the trial.

When supper-time came, they went to their boarding-house, a cottage in the suburbs, kept by a man who had formerly known Bachelor Billy in Scranton.

The next morning when they went into court the lawyers were making their addresses to the jury in the case that had been heard on the previous day, and Ralph and Billy listened to the speeches with much interest. The judge's charge was a long one, and before it was concluded the noon-hour had come. But it was known, when court adjourned, that the Burnham case would be taken up at two o'clock.

Long before that time, however, the benches in the court-room were filled with people, and even the precincts of the bar were invaded.

The suit had aroused so much interest and excitement that hundreds of people came simply to see the parties and hear the evidence in the case.

At two o'clock Mr. Goodlaw entered, accompanied by Mrs. Burnham and her little daughter, and all three took seats by a table inside the bar.

Sharpman came in a few minutes later, and Simon Craft arose from his place near the railing and went with him to another table. Ralph, who was with Bachelor Billy down on a front bench, scarcely recognized the old man at first, there was so marked a change in his appearance. He had on a clean new suit of black broadcloth, his linen was white and well arranged, and he had been freshly shaven. Probably he had not presented so attractive an appearance before in many years. It was all due to Sharpman's money and wit. He knew how much it is worth to have a client look well in the eyes of a jury, and he had acted according to his knowledge.

So Old Simon had a very grandfatherly air as he took his seat by the side of his counsel and laid his cane on the floor beside him.

After arranging his papers on the table, Sharpman arose and looked back over the crowded court-room. Finally, catching sight of Ralph, he motioned to him to come inside the bar. The boy obeyed, but not without embarra.s.sment. He saw that the eyes of all the people in the room were fixed on him as he crossed the open s.p.a.ce and dropped into a chair by the side of Craft. But he had pa.s.sed Mrs. Burnham on his way, and she had reached out her gloved hand and grasped his little one and held him by her for a moment to look searchingly and longingly into his face; and she had said to him some kind words to put him at his ease, so that the situation was not so very trying, after all.

The clerk began to call a jury into the box. One by one they answered to their names, and were scrutinized closely by the lawyers as they took their places. Then Sharpman examined, carefully, the list of jurors that was handed to him, and drew his pen through one of the names. It was that of a man who had once suffered by reason of the lawyer's shrewdness, and he thought it best to challenge him.

"Call another juror," he said, pa.s.sing the list to Goodlaw, who also struck a name from it, added a new one, and pa.s.sed it back.

The jury was finally settled, the challenged men were excused, and the remaining twelve were duly sworn.

Then Sharpman arose to open his case. With rapid detail he went over the history of Ralph's life from the time of the railroad accident to the day of the trial. He dwelt upon Simon Craft's kindness to the child, upon his energetic search for the unknown parents, and, later, for the boy himself; of his final success, of his constant effort in Ralph's behalf, and his great desire, now, to help him into the family and fortune to which his birth ent.i.tled him. "We shall show to you all of these facts, gentlemen of the jury," said Sharpman, in conclusion.

"We shall prove to you, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that this boy is Margaret Burnham's son and an heir to Robert Burnham's estates; and, having done so, we shall expect a verdict at your hands."

The lawyer resumed his seat, spent a few moments looking over his papers, and then said, in a tone of mingled respect and firmness:--

"We desire, if your Honor please, to call Mrs. Burnham for the purpose of cross-examination."

"That is your privilege under the law," said the judge.

"Mrs. Burnham," continued Sharpman, "will you kindly take the stand?"

"Certainly," replied the lady.

She arose, advanced to the witness-stand, received the oath, and took her chair with a matronly dignity and kindly grace that aroused the sympathy and admiration of all who saw her. She gave her name, the date of her marriage to Robert Burnham, the fact of his death, and the names and ages of her children. In the course of the examination, she was asked to describe the railway journey which ended in the disaster at Cherry Brook, and to give the details of that disaster as she remembered them.

"Can you not spare me that recital, sir?" she said.

"No one would be more willing or glad to do so, madam," responded Sharpman, "than I, but the whole future of this fatherless boy is hanging upon this examination, and I dare not do it. I will try to make it easier for you, however, by interrogation."

She had hidden her face in her hands a moment before; now she raised it, pallid, but fixed with strong determination.

"Go on," she said, "I will answer you."

Sharpman stood for a moment as if collecting his thoughts, then he asked: "Did you and your husband, accompanied by your child Ralph and his nurse, leave your home in Scranton on the thirteenth day of May, 1859, to go by rail to the city of Philadelphia?"