wanted to go to this one, 'cause it's a big one; but they's sumpthin'
else I want worse'n that, an' I'm a-tryin' to save up a little money
for it."

Robert Burnham's curiosity was aroused. Here was a boy who was willing
to forego the pleasures of the circus that he might gratify some
greater desire; a strong and noble one, the man felt sure, to call for
such a sacrifice. Visions of a worn-out mother, an invalid sister, a
mortgaged home, passed through his mind as he said: "And what is it
you are saving your money for, my boy, if I am at liberty to ask?"

"To'stablish my'dentity, sir."

"To do what?"

"To'stablish my'dentity; that's what Uncle Billy calls it."

"Why, what's the matter with your identity?"

"I ain't got any; I'm a stranger; I don't know who my 'lations are."

"Don't know--who--your relations are! Why, what's your name?"

"Ralph, that's all; I ain't got any other name. They call me Ralph
Buckley sometimes, 'cause I live with Uncle Billy; but he ain't my
uncle, you know,--I only call him Uncle Billy 'cause I live with him,
an'--an' he's good to me, that's all."

At the name "Ralph," coming so suddenly from the lad's lips, the man
had started, turned pale, and then his face flushed deeply. He drew