Burnham Breaker Part 13

"He ain't my grandfather!" he exclaimed. "Simon Craft ain't my grandfather. He wouldn't never 'a' whipped me the way he done if he'd a-been truly my grandfather."

Craft looked up at Sharpman with a little nod. The boy had identified him pretty plainly, and proved the truth of his story to that extent at least.

"Oh, no!" said the lawyer, "oh, no! Mr. Craft is not your grandfather; he doesn't claim to be. He has come here only to do you good. Now, be calm and reasonable, and listen to what we have to tell you, and, my word for it, you will go back to Billy Buckley's to-night with a heart as light as a feather. Now, you'll take my advice, and do that much, won't you?"

"Yes, I will," said Ralph, settling himself into his chair, "I will, if I can only find out about my father 'n' mother. But I won't go back to live with him; I won't never go back there!"

"Oh, no!" replied Sharpman, "we'll find a better home for you than Mr.

Craft could ever give you. Now, if you will sit still and listen to us, and take our advice, we will tell you more things about yourself than you have ever thought of knowing. You want to hear them, don't you?"

"Well, yes," replied Ralph, smiling and rapidly regaining his composure; "yes, of course."

"I thought so. Now I want to ask you one or two questions. In the first place, what do you remember about yourself before you went to live with Mr. Craft?"

"I don't remember anything, sir,--not anything."

"Haven't you a faint recollection of having been in a big accident sometime; say, for instance, a railroad disaster?"

"No--I don't think I have. I think I must 'a' dreamed sumpthin' like that once, but I guess it never happened to me, or I'd 'member more about it."

"Well, Ralph, it did happen to you. You were riding in a railroad car with your father and mother, and the train went through a bridge. A good many people were killed, and a good many more were wounded; but you were saved. Do you know how?"

Ralph did not answer the question. His face had suddenly paled.

"Were my father an' mother killed?" he exclaimed.

"No, Ralph, they were not killed. They were injured, but they recovered in good time."

"Are they alive now? where are they?" asked the boy, rising suddenly from his chair.

"Be patient, Ralph! be patient! we will get to that in time. Be seated and answer my question. Do you know how you were saved?"

"No, sir; I don't."

"Well, my boy," said the lawyer, impressively, pointing his finger toward Craft, "there is the man who saved you. He was on the train. He rushed into the wreck at the risk of his life, and drew you from the car window. In another minute it would have been too late. He fell back into the river holding you in his arms, but he saved you from both fire and water. The effort and exposure of that night brought on the illness that has resulted in the permanent loss of his health, and left him in the condition in which you now see him."

Ralph looked earnestly at old Simon, who still sat, quiet and speechless, chuckling to himself, and wis.h.i.+ng, in his heart, that he could tell a story as smoothly and impressively as Lawyer Sharpman.

"An' do I owe my life to him?" asked the boy. "Wouldn't I 'a' been saved if he hadn't 'a' saved me?"

"It is not at all probable," replied Sharpman. "The flames had already reached you, and your clothing was on fire when you were drawn from the car."

It was hard for Ralph to believe in any heroic or unselfish conduct on the part of Simon Craft; but as he felt the force of the story, and thought of the horrors of a death by fire, he began to relent toward the old man, and was ready to condone the harsh treatment that he had suffered at his hands.

"I'm sure I'm much obliged to 'im," he said, "I'm much obliged to 'im, even if he did use me very bad afterwards."

"But you must remember, Ralph, that Mr. Craft was very poor, and he was ill and irritable, and your high temper and stubborn ways annoyed him greatly. But he never ceased to have your best interests at heart, and he was in constant search of your parents, in order to restore you to them. Do you remember that he used often to be away from home?"

"Yes, sir, he used to go an' leave me with ole Sally."

"Well, he was away searching for your friends. He continued the search for five years, and at last he found your father and mother. He hurried back to Philadelphia to get you and bring you to your parents, as the best means of breaking to them the glad news; and when he reached his home, what do you suppose he found?"

Ralph smiled sheepishly, and said: "I 'xpect, maybe, I'd run away."

"Yes, my boy, you had. You had left his sheltering roof and his fostering care, without his knowledge or consent. Most men would have left you, then, to struggle on by yourself, as best you could; and would have rewarded your ingrat.i.tude by forgetfulness. Not so with Mr. Craft. He swallowed his pain and disappointment, and went out to search for you. He had your welfare too deeply at heart to neglect you, even then. His mind had been too long set on restoring you to loving parents and a happy home. After years of unremitting toil he found you, and is here to-night to act as your best and nearest friend."

Ralph had sat during this recital, with astonishment plainly depicted on his face. He could scarcely believe what he heard. The idea that Simon Craft could be kind or good to any one had never occurred to him before.

"I hope," he said, slowly, "I hope you'll forgive me, Gran'pa Simon, if I've thought wrong of you. I didn't know 'at you was a-doin' all that for me, an' I thought I was a-havin' a pirty hard time with you."

"Well," said Craft, speaking for the first time since Ralph's entrance. "Well, we won't say anything more about your bad behavior; it's all past and gone now, and I'm here to help you, not to scold you. I'm going to put you, now, in the way of getting back into your own home and family, if you'll let me. What do you say?"

"I'm sure that's very good in you, an' of course I'd like it. You couldn't do anything for me 'at I'd like better. I'm sorry if I've ever hurt your feelin's, but--"

"How do you think you would like to belong to a nice family, Ralph?"

interrupted Sharpman.

"I think it'd make me very happy, sir."

"And have a home, a beautiful home, with books, pictures, horses, fine clothes, everything that wealth could furnish?"

"That'd be lovely, very lovely; but I don't quite 'xpect that, an'

what I want most is a good mother, a real, nice, good mother. Haven't you got one for me? say, haven't you got one?"

The boy had risen to his feet and stood with clasped hands, gazing anxiously at Sharpman.

"Yes, my boy, yes," said the lawyer, "we've found a good mother for you, the best in the city of Scranton, and the sweetest little sister you ever saw. Now what do you think?"

"I think--I think 'at it's most too good to be true. But you wouldn't tell me a lie about it, would you? you wouldn't do that, would you?"

"Oh, no! Ralph; good lawyers never lie, and I'm a good lawyer."

"An' when can I see 'em? Can I go to 'em to-night? I don't b'lieve I can wait,--I don't b'lieve I can!"

"Ralph! Ralph! you promised to be quiet and reasonable. There, be seated and wait till you hear us through. There is something better yet for you to know. Now, who do you suppose your mother is? She lives in Scranton."

Ralph sat, for a moment, in stupid wonder, staring at Sharpman. Then a brilliant thought, borne on by instinct, impulse, strong desire, flashed like a ray of sunlight, into his mind, and he started to his feet again, exclaiming:--

"Mrs. Burnham! it can't be! oh, it can't be! tell me, is it Mrs.

Burnham?"

Craft and Sharpman exchanged quick glances of amazement, and the latter said, impressively:--

"Yes, Ralph, Mrs. Burnham is your mother."

The boy stood for another moment, as if lost in thought; then he cried out, suddenly: "And Mr. Burnham, he--he was my--my father!" and he sank back into his chair, with a sudden weakness in his limbs, and a mist before his eyes.

For many minutes no one spoke. Then Ralph asked, quietly,--