"When?"

"Three years ago this summer."

"Where?"

"Down in Pennsylvania. It was after we left Bloomsburg, I think, I picked 'im up along the road an' give 'im a ride on the tiger wagon."

"How long did he stay with you?"

"Oh, I don't remember; four or five days, maybe."

"What did he do?"

"Well, not much; ch.o.r.ed around a little."

"Did he tell you where he came from?"

"No, nor he wouldn't tell his name. Seemed to be afraid somebody'd ketch 'im; I couldn't make out who. He talked about some one he called Gran'pa Craft two or three times w'en he was off his guard, an' I reckoned from what he said that he come from Philadelphy."

"Where did he leave you?"

"Didn't leave us at all. We left him; played the desertion act on 'im."

"Where?"

"At Scranton."

"Why?"

"Well, he wasn't much use to us, an' he got sick an' couldn't do anything, an' the boss wouldn't let us take 'im no further, so we left 'im there."

"Are you sure this is the boy?"

"Oh, yes! positive. He's bigger, an' looks better now, but he's the same boy, I know he is."

"Cross-examine."

This last remark was addressed to the defendant's attorney.

"I have no questions to ask," said Goodlaw, "I have no doubt the witness tells the truth."

"That's all," said Sharpman, quickly; then, turning again toward the court-room, he called:

"William Buckley!"

Bachelor Billy arose from among the crowds on the front benches, and made his way awkwardly around the aisle and up to the witness-stand.

After the usual preliminary questions had been asked and answered, he waited, looking out over the mult.i.tude of faces turned toward him, while Sharpman consulted his notes.

"Do you know this boy?" the lawyer asked, pointing to Ralph.

"Do I know that boy?" repeated Billy, pointing also to Ralph, "'deed I do that. I ken 'im weel."

"When did you first see him?"

"An he's the son o' Robert Burnham, I seen 'im first i' the arms o'

'is mither a matter o' ten year back or so. She cam' t' the breaker on a day wi' her gude mon, an' she had the bairnie in her arms. Ye'll remember it, na doot, Mistress Burnham," turning to that lady as he spoke, "how ye said to me 'Billy,' said ye, 'saw ye ever so fine a baby as'"--

"Well, never mind that," interrupted Sharpman; "when did you next see the boy?"

"Never till I pickit 'im up o' the road."

"And when was that?"

"It'll be three year come the middle o' June. I canna tell ye the day."

"On what road was it?"

"I'll tell ye how it cam' aboot. It was the mornin' after the circus.

I was a-comin' doon fra Providence, an' when I got along the ither side o' whaur the tents was I see a bit lad a-layin' by the roadside, sick. It was him," pointing to Ralph and smiling kindly on him, "it was Ralph yonner. I says to 'im, 'What's the matter wi' ye, laddie?'

says I. 'I'm sick,' says 'e, 'an' they've goned an' lef me.' 'Who's lef' ye?' says I. 'The circus,' says he. 'An' ha' ye no place to go?'

says I. 'No,' says 'e, 'I ain't; not any.' So I said t' the lad as he s'ould come along wi' me. He could na walk, he was too sick, I carried 'im, but he was no' much o' a load. I took 'im hame wi' me an' pit 'im i' the bed. He got wa.r.s.e, an' I bringit the doctor. Oh! but he was awfu' sick, the lad was, but he pullit through as cheerfu' as ye please. An' the Widow Maloney she 'tended 'im like a mither, she did."

"Did you find out where he came from?"

"Wull, he said little aboot 'imsel' at the first, he was a bit afraid to talk wi' strangers, but he tellit, later on, that he cam'

fra Philadelphy. He tellit me, in fact," said Billy, in a burst of confidence, "that 'e rin awa' fra th'auld mon, Simon Craft, him that's a-settin' yonner. But it's small blame to the lad; ye s'ould na lay that up again' 'im. He _had_ to do it, look ye! had ye not, eh, Ralph?"

Before Ralph could reply, Sharpman interrupted: "And has the boy been with you ever since?"

"He has that, an' I could na think o' his goin' awa' noo, an it would na be for his gret good."

"In your intercourse with the boy through three years, have you noticed in him any indications of higher birth than is usually found among the boys who work about the mines? I mean, do his manners, modes of thought, impulses, expressions, indicate, to your mind, better blood than ordinary?"

"Why, yes," replied the witness, slowly grasping the idea, "yes. He has a way wi' 'im, the lad has, that ye'd think he did na belong amang such as we. He's as gentle as a la.s.s, an' that lovin', why, he's that lovin' that ye could na speak sharp till 'im an ye had need to. But ye'll no' need to, Mistress Burnham, ye'll no' need to."

The lady was sitting with her veil across her face, smiling now and then, wiping away a tear or two, listening carefully to catch every word.

Then the witness was turned over to the counsel for the defence, for cross-examination.

"What else has the boy done or said to make you think he is of gentler birth than his companions in the breaker?" asked Goodlaw, somewhat sarcastically.

"Why, the lad does na swear nor say bad words."

"What else?"

"He's tidy wi' the clothes, an' he _wull_ be clean."

"What else?"