ecause he was friendless and without money that he
grieved, but because his mother,--his own mother,--had passed him by
in his distress and had not helped him. She had been so close to him
that he could almost have put out his hand and touched her dress, and
yet she had swept by, in her haste, oblivious of his presence. He
knew, of course, that, if he had spoken to her, or if she had seen and
known him, she would gladly have befriended him. But it was not her
assistance that he wanted so much as it was her love. It was the
absence of that sympathy, that devotion, that watchful care over every
step he might take, that motherly instinct that ought to have felt his
presence though her eyes had been blinded; it was the absence of all
this that filled his heart with heaviness.

But he did not linger long in despair; he dashed the tears from his
eyes, and began to consider what he should do. He thought it probable
that there would be a later train; and it was barely possible that
some one whom he knew might be going up on it. It occurred to him that
Sharpman had said he would be busy in Wilkesbarre all day. Perhaps he
had not gone home yet; if not, he might go on the next train, if there
was one. It was worth while to inquire, at any rate.

"Yes," said the door-keeper, in answer to Ralph's question, "there'll
be another train going up at eleven thirty-five."

"Do you know Mr. Sharpman?" asked the boy, timidly.

"Mr. who?"

"Mr. Sharpman, the lawyer from Scranton."

"No, I don't know him,--why?"

"Oh, I didn't know but you might know w'ether he'd gone home or not;
but, of course, if you don't know 'im you couldn't tell."

"No, I don't know anything about him," said the man, stretching
himself on the bench for a nap.

Ralph thought he would wait. Indeed, there was nothing better for him
to do. It was warm here, and he had a seat, and he knew of no other
place in the city where he could be so comfortable. The clock on the
wall informed him that it was eight in the evening. He began to feel
hungry. He could see, through a half-opened door, the tempting array
of food on the lunch-counter in another room; but he knew that he
could get none, and he tried not to think of eating. It was very
quiet now in the waiting-room, and it was not very long before Ralph
fell to dozing and dreaming. He dreamed that he was somewhere in deep
distress, and that his mother came, looking for him, but unable to see
him; that she passed so cl