“Have you prepared a bond, Mr. Sharpman?” inquired the judge.

“We have,” replied Sharpman, producing still another paper.

“Mr. Goodlaw,” continued the judge, addressing Mrs. Burnham’s attorney, “will you look at the bond and see if it is satisfactory to you?”

Mr. Goodlaw took the bond, examined it, and returned it to the clerk.  “I have no objection to make to it,” he said.

“Then we will approve the bond, Mr. Sharpman, and make the appointment.  You have named Simon Craft as guardian.  We are wholly unacquainted with him.  Have you consulted with the boy in this matter?  What does he say?”

“I have brought the boy into court, so that, notwithstanding his legal inability to make choice for himself, your Honor might be satisfied as to his wish in the matter.  This is the boy,” as Ralph, obedient to the lawyer’s summons, came into the bar and stood beside him.  The judge scrutinized the lad closely, and the lawyers leaned forward in their chairs, or came nearer for the purpose of better observation.  Ralph felt somewhat embarrassed, standing there to be stared at so, but the voice of the judge soon reassured him.

“Ralph,” he said, “is this application for a guardian made according to your desire?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the boy; “Mr. Sharpman says I ought to have one.”

“And whom do you choose for your guardian?”

“Gran’pa Simon, sir.”

Sharpman looked annoyed, and whispered something to Ralph.

“I mean Simon Craft,” said the boy, correcting himself.

“Is Simon Craft your grandfather?” asked the judge, sternly.

“Oh, no!  I guess not.  He made me call ’im that.  I never had no grandfather; but Mr. Sharpman says that Robert Burnham was my father—­and—­and he’s dead.”

The judge looked down at the lad somewhat uncertainly, then he said:  “Well, Ralph, that will do; we’ll make the appointment, but,” turning to Sharpman, “we shall watch this matter closely.  We shall see that justice is done to the child in any event.”

“It is my earnest wish,” responded Sharpman, “that your Honor shall do so.  My only object in the matter is to see that this boy, whom I firmly believe to be Robert Burnham’s son, is restored to his family and estates, and that this old man, who has saved the lad’s life, and has spent and endured much for him through many years, is adequately rewarded in his old age.”

The judge endorsed the papers and handed them to the clerk, and Sharpman walked up the aisle with Ralph to the door of the court-room.

“I have business,” said the lawyer, “which will keep me here the rest of the day.  Can you find your way back to the station?”

“Oh, yes!”

“Here is something to pay your fare with;” offering a piece of money to the boy.

“I’ve got enough,” said Ralph, declining to accept it, “plenty; I’ll get home all right.”