, and in his hand he still carried his shoes and stockings.

"Mr. Goodlaw!" he exclaimed in a loud whisper as he hastened across
the bar, "Mr. Goodlaw, wait a minute! I ain't Robert Burnham's son! I
didn't know it till yestaday; but I ain't--I ain't his son!"

The boy dropped, panting, into a chair. Goodlaw looked down on him
in astonishment. Old Simon clutched his cane and leaned forward with
his eyes flashing fire. Mrs. Burnham, her face pale with surprise and
compassion, began to smooth back the hair from the lad's wet forehead.
The people back in the court-room had risen to their feet, to look
down into the bar, and the constables were trying to restore order.

It all took place in a minute.

Then Ralph began to talk again:--

"Rhymin' Joe said so; he said I was Simon Craft's grandson; he told--"

Sharpman interrupted him. "Come with me, Ralph," he said, "I want to
speak with you a minute." He reached out his hand, as if to lead him
away; but Goodlaw stepped between them, saying, sternly:--

"He shall not go! The boy shall tell his story unhampered; you shall
not crowd it back down his throat in private!"

"I say the boy shall go," replied Sharpman, angrily. "He is my client,
and I have a right to consult with him."

This was true. For a moment Goodlaw was at his wit's end. Then, a
bright idea came to him.

"Ralph," he said, "take the witness-stand."

Sharpman saw that he was foiled.

He turned to the court, white with passion.

"I protest," he exclaimed, "against this proceeding! It is contrary
to both law and courtesy. I demand the privilege of consulting with
my client!"

"Counsel has a right to call the boy as a witness," said the judge,
dispassionately, "and to put him on the stand at once. Let him be
sworn."

Ralph pushed his way up to the witness-stand, and the officer
administered the oath. He was a sorry-looking witness indeed.

At any other time or in any other place, his appearance would have
been ludicrous. But now no one laughed. The people in the court-room
began to whisper, "Hush!" fearing lest the noise of moving bodies
might cause them to lose the boy's words.

To Goodlaw it was all a mystery. He did not know how to begin the
examination. He started at a venture.

"Are you Robert Burnham's son?"

"No, sir," replied Ralph, firmly. "I ain't."

There was a buzz of excitement in the room. Old Simon sat staring
at the boy incredulously. His anger had changed for the moment into