about to be taken in his behalf.  Why, then, should he fear?  Was it not absurd to cloud his happiness with the dread of something which would never come?  Away with doubts! away with fears! he would revel, for to-night at least, in the joy of his new knowledge.  Mrs. Burnham was his mother; was not that beautiful, beautiful?  Could he, in his wildest flight of fancy or desire, have ever hoped for more than that?  But there was something more, and that something was that Robert Burnham was his father.  Ah! that was, beyond all question, the highest honor that could ever rest upon a boy,—­to be the son of a hero!  Ralph threw back his head and shoulders with instinctive, honest pride as this thought filled his mind and heart, and his quick step grew more elastic and more firm as he hurried on along the moonlit path.

He was out beyond the city limits now, climbing the long hill toward home.  He could see Burnham Breaker, standing out in majestic proportions, black and clear-cut against the moon-illumined sky.  By and by the little mining village came into view, and the row of cottages, in one of which the Widow Maloney lived; and finally the light in Bachelor Billy’s window.  When Ralph saw this he broke into a run, and sped swiftly along the deserted street, with the whole glad story of his parentage and his prospects crowding to his tongue.

Billy was still sitting by the fire when the boy burst into the room; but he had fallen asleep, and his clay pipe had dropped from his fingers and lay broken on the hearth.

“Uncle Billy! oh, Uncle Billy! what do you think?”

“Why, Ralph, lad, is that yo’?  I mus’ ‘a’ been asleep.  Whaur ye been, eh?”

“W’y don’t you ’member?  I went to Lawyer Sharpman’s office.”

“True for ye, so ye did.  I forgot; an’ did ye—­”

“Oh, Uncle Billy! what do you think?  Guess who I am; guess!”

“Why, lad, don’t frighten a mon like that.  Ye’ll wake the neeborhood.  Who be ye, then?”

“Guess! guess!  Oh, you’d never guess!  I’m Ralph Burnham; I’m Mrs. Burnham’s son!”

Bachelor Billy’s hands dropped lifelessly to his knees, his mouth and eyes came wide open with unfeigned astonishment, and, for the moment, he was speechless.  Finally he found breath to exclaim:  “Why, Ralph, lad; Ralph, ye’re crazy,—­or a-jokin’!  Don’t joke wi’ a mon that way, Ralph; it ain’t richt!”

“No, but, Uncle Billy, it’s true; it’s all true!  Ain’t it splendid?”

“Be ye sure o’ that, Ralph? be ye sure o’ it?”

“Oh! they ain’t no mistake about it; they couldn’t be.”

“Well, the guid Lord save ye, lad!” and Billy looked the boy over carefully from head to foot, apparently to see if he had undergone any change during his absence.  Then he continued:  “Coom, sit ye, then; sit ye, an’ tell us aboot it a’; how happenit it, eh?”

Again they drew their chairs up before the replenished fire, and Ralph gave a full account of all that had occurred at the lawyer’s office.