The man went to a closet and took down a dinner-pail.

“I’ve a bit left o’ me last-night’s dinner,” said he; “an’ av ye’re the laste bit hungry ye’ll not be makin’ me carry it home with me.”  He had spread a newspaper on the table, and had laid out the pieces of food upon it.

“Oh, I am hungry!” responded Ralph, looking eagerly over the tempting array.  “I’m very hungry; but you’ve been too good to me already, an’ you don’t know me, either.”

The man turned his face toward the door, and stood for a minute without speaking.  Then he said, huskily:—­

“Ate it lad, ate it.  Bless your sowl, there’s a plinty more where that come from.”

The boy needed no further urging.  He ate the food with great relish, while the watchman stood by and looked on approvingly.  When the meal was finished, Ralph said:—­

“Now, I’ll be a-goin’.  I can’t never thank you enough.  Maybe I can do sumpthin’ for you, some time, but—­”

“Howld your tongue, now!  Didn’t I tell ye not to shpake of it?”

The boy opened the door and looked out upon the dawning day.

“Ain’t it nice!” he said.  “I can git along splendid in the daylight.  I ain’t afraid, but it’s awful lonesome in the dark, ’specially when you’re away from home this way.”

“An’ where do ye be goin’ now?” inquired the watchman.

“Home; to Scranton.  I can walk there, so long as it’s daylight.  Oh!  I can git along beautiful now.  Which is the bes’ way to go?”

The man looked down at him wonderingly for a moment.  “Well, ye do bate the—­the—­the prisidint!” he said, going with him to the corner of the street.  “Now, thin, go up the strate straight,—­I mean straight up the strate,—­turn nayther to the right nor the lift, an whin the strate inds, follow the road up the river, an’ be it soon or late ye’ll come to Scranton.”

“Thank you!  Good-by.  I’ll al’ays remember you.”

“Good-by, me lad! an’ the saints attind ye!”

They shook hands cordially, and Ralph started up the street on his long journey toward home, while the watchman turned back to his duties, with his heart full of kindness and his eyes full of tears.  But he never, never forgot the homeless lad whom he fed and sheltered that autumn night.

CHAPTER IX.

A FRIEND INDEED.

It had been understood, when Ralph went to Wilkesbarre that morning, that he should return in the afternoon.  Bachelor Billy was very much surprised, therefore, when he returned from his work, not to find the boy waiting for him.  Indeed, he had more than half expected that Ralph would come up to the breaker to walk home with him, or would, at least, meet him on the way.  The Widow Maloney had not seen him, she said; and when supper was ready she sent her little girl down the road to look for him, and to tell him to hurry home.