“Why, my little innocent!” he exclaimed, “what do ye take me for; a reg’lar home for the friendless?  No, I ain’t in the charitable business jist now.  By the way, did ye know that the law don’t allow hotel-keepers to let boys stay in the bar-room?  Fust thing I know they’ll be a constable a-swoopin’ down on me here with a warrant.  Don’t ye think ye’d better excuse yourself?  That’s the door over yonder, young feller.”

Ralph turned, without a word, went to the door, opened it, and stepped into the street.  It was very dark outside, and a cold wind was blowing up.  He stood, for a few minutes, on the corner, shivering, and wondering which way to go.  He felt very wretched indeed; not so much because he was penniless and lost, as because he had been deceived, abused, and mocked.  He saw through the whole scheme now, and wondered how he had fallen so easily into it.

On a distant corner there was a street-lamp, burning dimly, and, without much thought of where he was going, the boy started toward it.

There were other drinking-saloons along the street, and he could hear loud talking and quarrelling in them as he passed by.  A man came out from one of them and hailed him gruffly.  It frightened him, and he started to run.  The man followed him for a little way, shouting savagely, and then turned back; but Ralph ran on.  He stumbled, finally, on the uneven pavement, and fell headlong, bruising his side and hurting his wrist.  His cap had rolled off, and it took him a long time to find it.  Then he crossed the street to avoid a party of drunken revellers, and limped along until he came to the lamp that he had seen from the distance.  Down another street there were a number of lights, and it looked more inviting; so he turned in that way.  After he had gone two or three blocks in this direction, avoiding carefully the few persons whom he met, he turned again.  The streets were growing lighter and wider now, and there were more people on them, and that was something to be thankful for.  Finally he reached a busy, well-lighted thoroughfare, and turned into it, with a sigh of relief.  He had not walked very far along it before he saw, over to the right, surrounded by lights, a long, low building, in the middle of an open square.  It occurred to him, suddenly, that this was the railroad station, and he hurried toward it.  When he reached the door he remembered that he was without money, but he thought he would go in at any rate.  He was very tired, and he knew of no better place in which to stop and rest.  So he went into the waiting-room, and sat down on a bench, and looked around him.

There were not many people there, but they began to come very soon, and kept coming until the room was nearly full.  Finally, there was a puffing of a locomotive out on the track, and a ringing of an engine bell, and the door-keeper called out:—­

“All aboard for Pittston, Scranton, and Carbondale!”

The people crowded toward the door, and just then a carriage drove up to the other side of the station, and a gentleman and a lady and a little girl came into the waiting-room from the street entrance.  The lady was in deep mourning; but, as she threw aside her veil for a moment, Ralph recognized her as Mrs. Burnham, and the little girl as her child.  His heart gave a great throb, and he started to his feet.