“Well, a man told him.”

“What man?”

“Now, look here, fellows!” said Ralph, “I ain’t goin’ to tell you everything.  It’d predujuice my case too much.  I can’t do it, I got no right to.”

Then a doubting Thomas arose.

“I ain’t got nothin’ agin him,” he began, referring to Ralph, “he’s a good enough feller—­for a slate-picker, for w’at I know; but that’s all he is; he ain’t a Burnham, no more’n I be, if he was he wouldn’t be a-workin’ here in the dirt; it ain’t reason’ble.”

Before Ralph could reply, some one took up the cudgel for him.

“Yes, he is too,—­a Burnham.  My father says he is, an’ Lawyer Sharpman says he is, an’ you don’t know nothin’ ’bout it.”

Whereupon a great confusion of voices arose, some of the boys denying Ralph’s claim of a right to participate in the privileges allotted to the Burnham family, while most of them vigorously upheld it.

Finally, Ralph made his voice heard above the uproar:—­

“Boys,” he said, “they ain’t no use o’ quarrellin’; we’ll all find out the truth about it ‘fore very long.  I’m a-goin’ to stay here an’ work in the breaker till the thing’s settled, an’ I want you boys to use me jest as well as ever you did, an’ I’ll treat you jest the same as I al’ays have; now, ain’t that fair?”

“Yes, that’s fair!” shouted a dozen boys at a time.  “Hooray for Ralph Burnham!” added another; “hooray!”

The cheers were given with a will, then the breaker bell rang, and the boys flocked back to their work.

Ralph was as good as his word.  Every morning he came and took his place on the bench, and picked slate ten hours a day, just as the other boys did; and though the subject of his coming prosperity was often discussed among them, there was never again any malice or bitterness in the discussion.

But the days and weeks and months went by.  The snows of winter came, and the north winds howled furiously about the towering heights of Burnham Breaker.  Morning after morning, before it was fairly light, Ralph and Bachelor Billy trudged through the deep snow on their way to their work, or faced the driving storms as they plodded home at night.  And still, so far as these two could see, and they talked the matter over very often, no progress was being made toward the restoration of Ralph to his family and family rights.

Sharpman had explained why the delay was expedient, not to say necessary; and, though the boy tried to be patient, and was very patient indeed, yet the unquiet feeling remained in his heart, and grew.

But at last there was progress.  A petition had been presented to the Orphans’ Court, asking for a citation to Margaret Burnham, as administrator of her husband’s estate, to appear and show cause why she should not pay over to Ralph’s guardian a sufficient sum of money to educate and maintain the boy in a manner befitting his proper station in life.  An answer had been put in by Mrs. Burnham’s attorney, denying that Ralph was the son of Robert Burnham, and an issue had been asked for to try that disputed fact.  The issue had been awarded, and the case certified to the Common Pleas for trial, and placed on the trial list for the May term of court.