"Yes, ma'am, I am; I'm very much delighted. I've always wanted a mother; you don't know how much I've wanted a mother; but I never 'xpected--not till Gran'pa Simon come--I never 'xpected to get such a lovely one. You don't know; I wisht I could tell you; I wisht I could do sumpthin' so 'at you'd know how glad I am."

She leaned over and kissed him.

"There's only one thing you can do, Ralph, to show me that; you can come back here when the trial is over and be my boy and live with me always."

"Oh, I'll come!"

"And then we'll see what you shall do. Would you like to go to school and study?"

"Oh, may I?"

"Certainly! what would you like to study?"

"Readin'. If I could only study readin' so as to learn to read real good. I can read some now; but you know they's such lots o' things to read 'at I can't do it fast enough."

"Yes, you shall learn to read fast, and you shall read to me. You shall read books to me."

"What! whole books?--through?"

"Yes, would you like that?"

"Oh!" and the boy clasped his hands together in unspeakable delight.

"Yes, and you shall read stories to Mildred, your little sister. I wonder where she is; wouldn't you like to see her?"

"Yes, ma'am, I would, very much."

"I'll send for her."

"You'll have books of your own, you know," continued the lady, as she returned across the room, "and playthings of your own, and a room of your own, near mine, and every night you'll kiss me good-night, will you not, and every morning you will kiss me good-morning?"

"Oh, indeed I will! indeed!"

In through the curtained door-way came little Mildred, her blond curls tossing about her face, her cheeks rosy with health, her eyes sparkling with antic.i.p.ation.

She had seen Ralph and knew him, but as yet she had not understood that he was her brother. She could not comprehend it at once, there were many explanations to be made, and Ralph's story was retold; but when the fact of his relation to her became fixed in her mind, it was to her a truth that could never afterward be shaken.

"And will you come to live with us?" she asked him.

"Yes," said Ralph, "I 'xpect to."

"And will you play with me?"

"Well, I--I don't know how to play girl's plays, but I guess I can learn," he said, looking inquiringly up into his mother's face.

"You shall both learn whatever you like that is innocent and healthful and pretty to play, my children."

The house-maid, at the door, announced dinner.

"Come," said the lady, placing an arm about each child, "come, let us eat together and see how it seems."

She drew them gently to the dining-room and placed them at the table, and sat where she could look from one to the other and drink in the joy of their presence.

But Ralph had grown more quiet. It was all so new and strange to him and so very beautiful that he could do little more than eat his food, and answer questions, and look about him in admiring wonder.

When dinner was finished the afternoon had grown late, and Ralph, remembering Bachelor Billy's fear, said that he ought to go. They did not try to detain him; but, with many kind words and good-wishes and bright hopes for the morrow, they kissed him good-night and he went his way. The sky was still cloudless; the cool of the coming evening refreshed the air, the birds that sing at twilight were already breaking forth into melody as if impatient for the night, and Ralph walked out through it all like one in a dream.

It was so much sweeter than anything he had ever heard of or thought of, this taste of home, so much, so very much! His heart was like a thistle bloom floating in the air, his feet seemed not to touch the ground; he was walking as a spirit might have walked, buoyed up by thoughts of all things beautiful. He reached the cottage that for years had been his home, and entered it with a cry of gladness on his lips.

"Oh, Uncle Billy! it was--it was just like heaven!" He had thrown himself upon a stool at the man's feet, and sat looking up into the kindly face.

Bachelor Billy did not answer. He only placed his hand tenderly on the boy's head, and they both sat, in silence, looking out through the open door, until the pink clouds in the western sky had faded into gray, and the deepening twilight wrapped the landscape, fold on fold, in an ever thickening veil.

By and by Ralph's tongue was loosened, and he told the story of his visit to Mrs. Burnham. He gave it with all fulness; he dwelt long and lovingly on his mother's beauty and affection, on his sister's pretty ways, on the splendors of their home, on the plans marked out for him.

"An' just to think of it!" he exclaimed, "after to-morrow, I'll be there ev'ry day, _ev'ry day_. It's too beautiful to think of, Uncle Billy; I can't help lookin' at myself an' wonderin' if it's me."

"It's verra fine, but ye've a richt to it, lad, an' ye desarve it, an'

it's a blessin' to all o' ye."

Again they fell into silence. The blue smoke from Billy's pipe went floating into the darkness, and up to their ears came the sound of distant church bells ringing out their music to the night.

Finally, Ralph thought of the appointed meeting at Sharpman's office, and started to his feet.

"I mus' hurry now," he said, "or he'll think I ain't a-comin'."

The proposed visit seemed to worry Bachelor Billy somewhat. He did not like Sharpman. He had not had full confidence in him from the beginning. And since the interview on the day of Ralph's return from Wilkesbarre, his faith in the pureness of the lawyer's motives had been greatly shaken. He had watched the proceedings in Ralph's case as well as his limited knowledge of the law would allow, and, though he had discovered nothing, thus far, that would injure or compromise the boy, he was in constant fear lest some plan should be developed by which Ralph would be wronged, either in reputation or estate.

He hesitated, therefore, to have the lad fulfil this appointment.

"I guess I'd better go wi' ye," he said, "mayhap an' ye'll be afeared a-comin' hame i' the dark."

"Oh, no, Uncle Billy!" exclaimed the boy, "they ain't no use in your walkin' way down there. I ain't a bit afraid, an' I'll get home early. Mr. Sharpman said maybe it wouldn't be any use for me to go to Wilkesbarre to-morrow at all, and he'd let me know to-night. No, don't you go! I'm a-goin' to run down the hill so's to get there quicker; good-by!"

The boy started off at a rapid pace, and broke into a run as he reached the brow of the hill, while Bachelor Billy unwillingly resumed his seat, and watched the retreating form of the lad until it was swallowed up in the darkness.

Ralph thought that the night air was very sweet, and he slackened his pace at the foot of the hill, in order to enjoy breathing it.

He was pa.s.sing along a street lined with pretty, suburban dwellings.

Out from one yard floated the rich perfume of some early flowering shrub. The delicious odor lingered in the air along the whole length of the block, and Ralph pleased his fancy by saying that it was following him.

Farther on there was a little family group gathered on the porch, parents and children, talking and laughing, but gently as became the day. Very happy they seemed, very peaceful, untroubled and content. It was beautiful, Ralph thought, very beautiful, this picture of home, but he was no longer envious, his heart did not now grow bitter nor his eyes fill full with tears. His own exceeding hope was too great for that to-night, his own home joys too near and dear.

Still farther on there was music. He could look into the lighted parlor and see the peaceful faces of those who stood or sat there. A girl was at the piano playing; a young, fair girl with a face like the faces of the pictured angels. They were all singing, a familiar sacred song, and the words came floating out so sweetly to the boy's ears that he stopped to listen:--

"O Paradise! O Paradise!

Who doth not crave for rest?

Who would not seek the happy land, Where they that loved are blest; Where loyal hearts and true Stand ever in the light, All rapture through and through, In G.o.d's most holy sight?"