“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 ingratitude 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?”