Burnham Breaker Part 50

"He's not ower strang yet; ye ken that by lukin' at 'im; but he's a braw lad, a braw lad."

The lady turned and looked earnestly into Bachelor Billy's face.

"He's the bravest boy," she said, "the very bravest boy I ever knew or heard, of, and the very best. I want him, Billy; I have come here to-night to ask you if I may have him. Son or no son, he is very dear to me, and I feel that I cannot do without him."

For a minute the man was silent. Down deep in his heart there had been a spark of rejoicing at the probability that Ralph would stay with him now indefinitely. He had pushed it as far out of sight as possible, because it was a selfish rejoicing, and he felt that it was not right since it came as a result of the boy's misfortune.

And now suddenly the fear of loss had quenched it entirely, and the dread of being left alone came back upon him in full force.

He bit his lip before replying, to help hold back his mingled feeling of pleasure at the bright prospect opening for Ralph, and of pain for the separation which must follow.

"I dinna ken," he said at last, "how aught could be better for the lad than bein' wi' ye. Ye're ower kin' to think o' it. It'll be hard partin' wi' im, but, if the lad wishes it, he s'all gae. I ha'

no claim on 'im only to do what's best for 'im as I ken it. He's a-comin'; he'll speak for 'imsel'."

Ralph came back into the room with face and hands as clean as a hurried washing could make them. "What thenk ye," said Bachelor Billy to him, "that the lady wants for ye to do?"

"I don't know," replied the boy, looking uneasily from one to the other; "but she's been very good to me, an', whatever it is, I'll try to do it."

"I want you to go home with me, Ralph," said Mrs. Burnham, "and live with me and be my son. I am not sure yet that you are not my child. We shall find that out. With the new light we have we shall make a new search for proofs of your ident.i.ty, but that may take weeks, perhaps months. In the meantime I cannot do without you. I want you to come to me now, and, whatever the result of this new investigation may be, I want you to stay with me and be my son. Will you come?"

She had taken both the boy's hands and had drawn him to her, and was looking up into his face with tenderness and longing.

Ralph could not speak. He was dumb with the joy of hearing her kindly earnest words. A light of great gladness broke in upon his mind. The world had become bright and beautiful once more. He was not to be without home and love and learning after all. Then came second thoughts, bringing doubt, hesitancy, mental struggling.

Still he was silent, looking out through the open door to the eastern hills, where the sunlight lingered lovingly with golden radiance. On the boy's face the lights and shadows, coming and going, marked the progress of the conflict in his mind.

The lady put her arm around him and drew him closer to her, regardless of his soiled and dusty clothing. She was still looking into his eyes.

"You will come, will you not, Ralph? We want you so much, so very much; do we not, Mildred?" she asked, turning to her little daughter, who stood at the other side of her chair.

"Indeed we do," answered the child. "Mamma wants you an' I want you.

I don't have anybody to play wiv me half the time, 'cept Towser; an'

yeste'day I asked Towser if he wanted you, an' Towser said 'bow,' an'

that means 'yes.'"

"There! you see we all want you, Ralph," said Mrs. Burnham, smiling; "the entire family wants you. Now, you will come, won't you?"

The boy had looked across to the little girl, over to Bachelor Billy, who stood leaning against the mantel, and then down again into the lady's eyes. It was almost pitiful to look into his face and see the strong emotion outlined there, marking the fierceness of the conflict in his mind between a great desire for honest happiness and a stern and manly sense of the right and proper thing for him to do. At last he spoke.

"Mrs. Burnham," he said, in a sharp voice, "I can't, I can't!"

A look of surprise and pain came into the lady's face.

"Why, Ralph!" she exclaimed, "I thought,--I hoped you would be glad to go. We would be very good to you; we would try to make you very happy."

"An' I'll give you half of ev'ry nice thing I have!" spoke out the girl, impetuously.

"I know, I know!" responded Ralph, "it'd be beautiful, just as it was that Sunday I was there; an' I'd like to go,--you don't know how I'd like to,--but I can't! Oh, no! I can't!"

Bachelor Billy was leaning forward, watching the boy intently, surprise and admiration marking his soiled face.

"Then, why will you not come?" persisted the lady. "What reason have you, if we can all be happy?"

Ralph stood for a moment in deep thought.

"I can't tell you," he said, at last. "I don't know just how to explain it, but, some way, after all this that's happened, it don't seem to me as though I'd ought to go, it don't seem to me as though it'd be just right; as though it'd be a-doin' what--what--Oh! I can't tell you. I can't explain it to you so'st you can understand. But I mus'n't go; indeed, I mus'n't!"

At last, however, the lady understood and was silent.

She had not thought before how this proposal, well meant though it was, might jar upon the lad's fine sense of honor and of the fitness of things. She had not realized, until this moment, how a boy, possessing so delicate a nature as Ralph's, might feel to take a position now, to which a court and jury had declared he was not ent.i.tled, to which he himself had acknowledged, and to which every one knew he was not ent.i.tled.

He had tried to gain the place by virtue of a suit at law, he had called upon the highest power in the land to put him into it, and his effort had not only ended in ignominious failure, but had left him stamped as a lineal descendant of one whose very name had become a by-word and a reproach. How could he now, with the remotest sense of honor or of pride, step into the place that should have been occupied by Robert Burnham's son?

The lady could not urge him any more, knowing what his thought was.

She could only say:--

"Yes, Ralph; I understand. I am very, very sorry. I love you just the same, but I cannot ask you now to go with me. I can only hope for a day when we shall know, and the world shall know, that you are my son.

You would come to me then, would you not, Ralph?"

"Indeed I would!" he said. "Oh, _indeed_ I would!"

She drew his head down upon her bosom and kissed his lips again and again; then she released him and rose to go. She inquired very tenderly about his health, about his work, about his likes in the way of books and food and clothing; and one could see that, notwithstanding her resolution to leave Ralph with Bachelor Billy, she still had many plans in her mind, for his comfort and happiness. She charged Billy to be very careful of the boy; she kissed him again, and Mildred kissed him, and then they stepped into the carriage and the restless brown horses drew them rapidly away.

CHAPTER XX.

THE FIRE IN THE SHAFT.

A boy with Ralph's natural courage and spirit could not remain long despondent. Ambition came back to him with the summer days, and hope found an abiding place in his breast once more. It was not, indeed, the old ambition to be rich and learned and famous, nor the hope that he should yet be surrounded with beauty in a home made bright by a mother's love.

All these things, though they had not faded from his mind, were thought of only as sweet dreams of the past. His future, as he looked out upon it now, did not hold them; yet it was a future that had in it no disappointment, no desolation, no despair. The path before him was a very humble one, indeed, but he resolved to tread it royally.

Because the high places and the beautiful things of earth were not for him was no reason why he should sit and mourn his fate in cheerless inactivity. He determined to be up and doing, with the light and energy that he had, looking constantly ahead for more. He knew that in America there is always something better for the very humblest toiler to antic.i.p.ate, and that, with courage, hope, and high endeavor to a.s.sist him, he is sure to reach his goal.

Ralph resolved, at any rate, to do all that lay in his power toward the attainment of useful and honorable manhood. He did not set his mark so very high, but the way to it was rough with obstacles and bordered with daily toil.

His plan was, simply to find better places for himself about the breaker and the mines, as his age and strength would permit, and so to do his work as to gain the confidence of his employers. When he should become old enough, he would be a miner's laborer, then a miner, and perhaps, eventually, he might rise to the position of a mine boss.

He would improve his leisure with self study, get what schooling he could, and, finally, as the height of his ambition, he hoped that, some day, he might become a mining engineer; able to sink shafts, to direct headings, to map out the devious courses of the mine, or to build great breakers like the one in which he spent his days.

Having marked out his course he began to follow it. He labored earnestly and with a will. The breaker boss said that no cleaner coal was emptied into the cars at the loading place than that which came down through Ralph's chute.

His plan was successful as it was bound to be, and it was not long before a better place was offered to him. It was that of a driver boy in the mine below the breaker. He accepted it; the wages were much better than those he was now receiving, and it was a long step ahead toward the end he had in view.

But the work was new and strange to him. He did not like it. He did not think, at first, that he ever could like it. It was so dark in the mines, so desolate, so lonely. He grew accustomed to the place, however, as the days went by, and then he began not to mind it so much after all. He had more responsibility here, but the work was not so tiresome and monotonous as it had been in the screen-room, and he could be in motion all the time.

He went down the shaft every morning with a load of miners and laborers, carrying his whip and his dinner-pail, and a lighted lamp fastened to the front of his cap. When he reached the bottom of the shaft he hurried to the inside plane, and up the slope to the stables to get his mule. The mule's name was Jasper. n.o.body knew why he had been named Jasper, but when Ralph called him by that name he always came to him. He was a very intelligent animal, but he had an exceedingly bad habit of kicking.