Simon Craft was in a most unenviable mood.  At times, indeed, he grew fairly desperate.  The golden bubble that he had been chasing for eight years had burst and vanished.  He had told the truth, he had been honest in his statements, he had sought to do the boy and the boy’s mother a great favor, and they had turned against him, and the verdict of the jury had placed upon him the stigma of perjury.  This was the burden of his complaint.  But aside from this he was filled with bitter regret.  If he had only closed his bargain with Robert Burnham on the day it had been made!  If he had only made his proposition to Mrs. Burnham as he had intended doing, instead of going into this wild scheme with this visionary lawyer!  This was his silent sorrow.  His misery was deep and apparent.  He had grown to be ten years older in a day.  This misfortune, he said, bitterly, was the result of trying to be honest and to do good.  This was the reward of virtue, these the wages of charity.

Tired, at last, of railing at abstract principles of right, he turned his attention to those who had been instrumental in his downfall.  The judge, the jury, and the attorney for the defence, all came in for a share of his malignant hatred and abuse.  For Mrs. Burnham he had only silent contempt.  Her honest desire to have right done had been too apparent from the start.  The only fault he had to find with her was that she did not come to his rescue when the tide was turning against him.  But against Ralph the old man’s wrath and indignation were intense.

Had he not saved the child from death?  Had he not fed and clothed and cared for him during five years?  Had he not rescued him from oblivion, and made every effort to endow him with wealth and position and an honored name?  And then, to think that in the very moment when these efforts were about to meet with just success, this boy had turned against him, and brought ruin and disgrace upon him.  Oh, it was too much, too much!

If he could only have the lad in his possession for a week, he thought, for a day, for an hour even, he would teach him the cost of turning traitor to his friends.  Oh, he would teach him!

Then it occurred to him that perhaps he might get possession of the boy, and permanent possession at that.  Had not Ralph sworn that he was Simon Craft’s grandson?  Had not the jury accepted Ralph’s testimony as true?  And had not the court ordered judgment to be entered on the jury’s verdict?  Well, if the court had declared the boy to be his grandson, he was entitled to him, was he not?  If the boy was able to earn anything, he was entitled to his earnings, was he not?  If he was the child’s grandfather, then he had authority to take him, to govern him, to punish him for disobedience—­was not that true?

Old Simon rose from his chair and began to walk up and down the room, hammering his cane upon the floor at every step.

The idea was a good one, a very good one, and he resolved to act upon it without delay.  He would go the very next day and get the boy and take him to Philadelphia.