that his attention had been called to the child
particularly, because he was a boy and about the age of his own little
grandson.

He said he was on the train that carried the rescued passengers to
Philadelphia after the accident, and that, passing through the car,
he had seen the same child who had been with the nurse now sitting
with an old man; he was sure the child was the same, as he stopped
and looked at him closely. The features of the old man he could not
remember. For two days he searched for his grandson, but being met, on
every hand, by indisputable proof that the child had perished in the
wreck, he then started on his return journey to St. Louis, and had not
since been east until the week before the trial.

"How did the plaintiff in this case find you out?" asked Goodlaw, on
cross-examination.

"I found him out," replied the witness. "I learned, from the
newspapers, that the trial was to take place; and, seeing that it
related to the Cherry Brook disaster, I came here to learn what little
else I might in connection with my grandchild's death. I went, first,
to see the counsel for the plaintiff and his client."

"Have you learned anything new about your grandson?"

"No, sir; nothing."

"Have you heard from him since the accident?"

"I have not."

"Are you sure he is dead?"

"I have no doubt of it."

"Can you recognize this boy," pointing to Ralph, "as the one whom you
saw with the nurse and afterward with the old man on the night of the
accident?"

"Oh, no! he was a mere baby at that time."

"Are you positive that the boy in court is not your grandson?"

"Perfectly positive, there is not the slightest resemblance."

"That will do."

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