said at last, "na doot it'd be comfortin' to have a guid
weef to care for ye; but they're an awfu' trooble, Ralph, women
is,--an awfu' trooble."

"But you don't know, Uncle Billy; you ain't had no 'xperience."

"No more am I like to have. I'm a gittin' too auld now. I could na get
me a weef an' I wanted one. Hoot, lad! think o' your Uncle Billy wi' a
weef to look after; it's no' sensiba, no' sensiba," and the man took
his pipe from his mouth and indulged in a hearty burst of laughter at
the mental vision of himself in matrimonial chains.

"But then," persisted Ralph, "you'd have such a nice home, you know;
an' somebody to look glad an' smile an' say nice things to you w'en
you come home from work o' nights. Uncle Billy, I'd give a good deal
if I had it, jes' to have a home like other boys has, an' mothers an'
fathers an' sisters an' all that."

"Wull, lad, I've done the bes' I could for ye, I've--"

"Oh, Uncle Billy!" interrupted the boy, rising and laying his hand
on the man's shoulder affectionately, "you know I don't mean that;
I don't mean but what you've been awful good to me; jes' as good as
any one ever could be; but it's sumpthin' dif'rent from that 'at I
mean. I'm thinkin' about a home with pirty things in it, books, an'
pictures, an' cushions, the way women fix 'em you know, an'--an' a
mother; I want a mother very much; I think it'd be the mos' beautiful
thing in the world to have a mother. You've had one, ain't you, Uncle
Billy?"

The man's face had taken on a pleased expression when Ralph began with
his expostulation, but, as the boy continued, the look changed into
one of sadness.

"Yes, lad," he said, "an' a guid mither she waur too. She died an'
went to heaven it's mony a year sin', but I still min' the sweet
way she had wi' me. Ye're richt, laddie, there's naught like a
blessed mither to care for ye--an' ye never had the good o' one
yoursel'"--turning and looking at the boy, with an expression of
wondering pity on his face, as though that thought had occurred to
him now for the first time.

"No, I never had, you know; that's the worst of it. If I could only
remember jest the least bit about my mother, it wouldn't seem so bad,
but I can't remember nothing, not nothing."

"Puir lad! puir lad! I had na thocht o' that afoor. But, patience,
Ralph, patience; mayhap we'll find a mither for ye yet."

"Oh, Uncle Billy! if we could, if we only could! Do you know,
sometimes w'en I go down town, an' wal