“I advised him to do so, but, aside from his appearance, which is hardly in harmony with these surroundings, I think he would prefer not to hold a personal conference with the boy’s friends.  I may as well give you my reason for that belief.  The old man says that the boy ran away from him two or three years ago, and I have inferred that the flight was due, partially, at least, to unkind treatment on Craft’s part.  I believe he is now afraid to talk the matter over with you personally, lest you should rebuke him too severely for his conduct toward the child and his failure to take proper care of him.  He is anxious that all negotiations should be conducted through his attorney.  Rather sensitive, he is, for a man of his general stamp.”

“And did the child return to him?” asked the lady, anxiously, not heeding the lawyer’s last remark.

“Oh, no!  The old man searched the country over for him.  He did not find him until this summer.”

“And where was he found?”

“Here, in Scranton.”

“In Scranton!  That is strange.  Is the boy here still?”

“He is.”

“Where does he live? who cares for him?”

Sharpman had not intended to give quite so much information, but he could not well evade these questions and at the same time appear to be perfectly honest in the matter, so he answered her frankly: 

“He lives with one William Buckley, better known as ‘Bachelor Billy.’  He works in the screen-room at Burnham Breaker.”

“Indeed! by what name is he known?”

“By your son’s name—­Ralph.”

“Ralph, the slate-picker!  Do you mean that boy?”

It was Sharpman’s turn to be surprised.

“Do you know him?” he asked, quickly.

“I do,” she replied.  “My husband first told me of him; I have seen him frequently; I have talked with him so lately as yesterday.”

“Ah, indeed!  I am very glad you know the boy.  We can talk more intelligently concerning him.”

“Do I understand you, then, to claim that Ralph, the slate-picker, is my son? this boy and no other?”

“That is my client’s statement, madam.”

The lady leaned back wearily in her chair.

“Then I fear you have come upon a futile errand, Mr. Sharpman,” she said.

But, from the lawyer’s stand-point, it began to look as if the errand was to be successful.  He felt that he could speak a little more strongly now of Ralph’s identity with Mrs. Burnham’s son without endangering his cause.

“Can you remember,” he said, “nothing about the lad’s appearance that impressed you—­now that you know the claim set up for hi—­that impressed you with a sense of his relationship to you?”

“Nothing, sir, nothing whatever.  The boy is a bright, frank, manly fellow; I have taken much interest in him from the first.  His sorrow at the time of my husband’s death touched me very deeply.  I have been several times since then to look after his comfort and happiness.  I saw and talked with him yesterday, as I have already told you.  But he is not my son, sir, he is not my son.”