Part 58 (1/2)

”But Ralph was my only child! And his father gone, too!” and Mrs. Nelson heaved a deep sigh, while the tears streamed down her cheeks anew.

The widow's sorrow was deep, and up to now she had not allowed herself to think of aught else. She was alone in the world, so she thought, and did not care how the future shaped itself.

Presently there was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Corcoran opened it to admit Squire Paget. The head man of the village wore a look of hypocritical sympathy upon his sharp features.

”I was just going over the bridge to Eastport,” he explained, ”and thought I would drop in for a neighborly chat.”

Even in this simple statement he could not put a grain of truth. He had made a special trip to the cottage, and had come solely for his own selfish ends.

Mrs. Corcoran bid him welcome, and offered him a chair.

”I trust you do not let your sorrow rest too deeply upon you, widow,” he went on, to Mrs. Nelson. ”We all have our trials in this world,” and he gave a grunt that was meant for a deep sigh.

”How can I help it, squire?” she replied. ”Ralph was all the world to me.”

”So was my late wife, widow, and yet I had to give her up;” and again he gave a grunt-like sigh.

This statement did not affect Mrs. Nelson greatly. She knew that it was a fact that the squire and his late wife had quarreled continually, and that many had said he had not cared at all when death had relieved him of her companions.h.i.+p.

”I was wondering what you intended to do,” went on the squire, after an awkward pause. ”Do you intend to stay here?”

”I do not know yet, squire.”

”I should think you would want to change your surroundings. Does not everything in this cottage remind you of your late husband and late son?”

”Indeed it does!” cried Mrs. Nelson. ”Sometimes I cannot bear it!”

”If I were you I would sell out and go elsewhere,” suggested the squire, coming around to the subject that was on his mind. ”Perhaps a little trip somewhere would do you a world of good.”

”It would do her good,” put in simple-minded Mrs. Corcoran, who believed the squire sincere.

”I cannot afford a trip,” sighed Mrs. Nelson. ”Besides--I--I--sometimes think that Ralph may come back,” she faltered.

”Never, in this life, widow,” returned the squire, solemnly. ”Alas! the dead never return, no matter how much we love them.”

”Sometimes they do, Squire Paget!” cried a young voice from the open doorway, and Ralph sprang into the room. ”Mother!”

”Ralph, my son!” screamed Mrs. Nelson. ”Thank Heaven for its many mercies!”

And she thew herself into Ralph's arms, while the tears of sorrow were quickly turned to tears of joy.

Squire Paget was dumbfounded. He stared at Ralph as if the boy was an apparition.

”Is it really you, Ralph?” he stammered at last.

”Sure, an' it is, Heaven bless him!” put in Mrs. Corcoran.

”And where have you been, Ralph?” cried Mrs. Nelson, when she could again speak.

”I have been in New York. You would have heard from me before had not that villain stolen the letter I sent.”