The cross-examination had done little more than to strengthen the direct testimony.  Mrs. Burnham had thrown aside her veil and gazed intently at the witness from the moment he went on the stand.  She recognized him as the man who sat across the aisle from her, with his grandchild, on the night of the disaster, and she knew that he was telling the truth.  There seemed to be no escape from the conclusion that it was her child who went down to the city that night with Simon Craft.  Was it her child who escaped from him, and wandered, sick and destitute, almost to her own door?  Her thought was interrupted by the voice of Sharpman, who had faced the crowded court-room and was calling the name of another witness:  “Richard Lyon!”

A young man in short jacket and plaid trousers took the witness-stand.

“What is your occupation?” asked Sharpman, after the man had given his name and residence.

“I’m a driver for Farnum an’ Furkison.”

“Who are Farnum and Furkison?”

“They run the Great European Circus an’ Menagerie.”

“Have you ever seen this boy before?” pointing to Ralph.

“Yes, sir.”

“When?”

“Three years ago this summer.”

“Where?”

“Down in Pennsylvania.  It was after we left Bloomsburg, I think, I picked ‘im up along the road an’ give ’im a ride on the tiger wagon.”

“How long did he stay with you?”

“Oh, I don’t remember; four or five days, maybe.”

“What did he do?”

“Well, not much; chored around a little.”

“Did he tell you where he came from?”

“No, nor he wouldn’t tell his name.  Seemed to be afraid somebody’d ketch ’im; I couldn’t make out who.  He talked about some one he called Gran’pa Craft two or three times w’en he was off his guard, an’ I reckoned from what he said that he come from Philadelphy.”

“Where did he leave you?”

“Didn’t leave us at all.  We left him; played the desertion act on ’im.”

“Where?”

“At Scranton.”

“Why?”

“Well, he wasn’t much use to us, an’ he got sick an’ couldn’t do anything, an’ the boss wouldn’t let us take ’im no further, so we left ’im there.”

“Are you sure this is the boy?”

“Oh, yes! positive.  He’s bigger, an’ looks better now, but he’s the same boy, I know he is.”

“Cross-examine.”

This last remark was addressed to the defendant’s attorney.

“I have no questions to ask,” said Goodlaw, “I have no doubt the witness tells the truth.”

“That’s all,” said Sharpman, quickly; then, turning again toward the court-room, he called: 

“William Buckley!”

Bachelor Billy arose from among the crowds on the front benches, and made his way awkwardly around the aisle and up to the witness-stand.  After the usual preliminary questions had been asked and answered, he waited, looking out over the multitude of faces turned toward him, while Sharpman consulted his notes.