, and stood watching
the antics of the monkeys, and laughing gleefully at each comical
trick performed by the grave-faced little creatures. Looking up, he
saw an old man standing by him; an old man with sharp gray eyes and
dusty clothes, who leaned heavily upon a cane.

"Curious things, these monkeys," said the old man.

"Ain't they, though!" replied the boy. "Luk at that un, now!--don't he
beat all? ain't he funny?"

"Very!" responded the old man, gazing across the open space to where
Ralph stood chattering with his companions.

"Sonny," said he, "can you tell me who that boy is, over yonder, with
his hand done up in a white cloth?"

"That boy w'ats a-talkin' to Jimmy Dooley, you mean?"

"Yes, the one there by the lion's cage."

"You mean that boy there with the blue patch on his pants?"

"Yes, yes! the one with his hand bandaged; don't you see?"

"Oh, that's Ralph."

"Ralph who?"

"Ralph nobody. He ain't got no other name. He lives with Bachelor
Billy."

"Is--is Bachelor Billy his father?"

"Naw; he ain't got no father."

"Does he work with you in the mines?"

"In the mines? naw; we don't work in the mines; we work in the
screen-room up t' the breaker, a-pickin' slate. He sets nex' to me."

"How long has he been working there?"

"Oh, I donno; couple o' years, I guess. You want to see 'im? I'll go
call 'im."

"No; I don't care to see him. Don't call him; he isn't the boy I'm
looking for, any way."

"There! he's a-turnin' this way now. I'll have 'im here in a minute;
hey, Ralph! Ralph! here he comes."

But the old man was gone. He had disappeared suddenly and
mysteriously. A little later he was trudging slowly along the dusty
road, through the crowds of people, up toward the city. He was
smiling, and muttering to himself. "Found him at last!" he exclaimed,
in a whisper, "found him at last! It'll be all right now; only be
cautious, Simon! be cautious!"

CHAPTER II.

A STRANGE VISITOR.

It was the day after the circus. Robert Burnham sat in his office on
Lackawanna Avenue, busy with his afternoon mail. As he laid the last
letter aside the incidents of the previous day recurred to him, and he
saw again, in imagination, the long line of breaker-boys, with happy,
dusty faces, filing slowly by him, grateful for his gifts, eager for
the joys to come. The pleasure he had found in his generous deed
stayed with him, as such pleasures always do, and was manifest even
now in the light of his