the boy down tenderly on the bench beside him, and said:--

"Tell me about yourself, Ralph; where do you say you live?"

"With Uncle Billy,--Bachelor Billy they call him; him that dumps at
the head, pushes the cars out from the carriage an' dumps 'em; don't
you know Billy Buckley?"

The man nodded assent and the boy went on:--

"He's been awful good to me, Uncle Billy has; you don't know how good
he's been to me; but he ain't my uncle, he ain't no 'lation to me; I
ain't got no 'lations 'at I know of; I wish't I had."

The lad looked wistfully out through the open window to the far line
of hills with their summits veiled in a delicate mist of blue.

"But where did Billy get you?" asked Mr. Burnham.

"He foun' me; he foun' me on the road, an' he took me in an' took care
o' me, and he didn't know me at all; that's where he's so good. I was
sick, an' he hired Widow Maloney to tend me while he was a-workin',
and when I got well he got me this place a-pickin' slate in the
breaker."

"But, Ralph, where had you come from when Billy found you?"

"Well, now, I'll tell you all I know about it. The first thing 'at I
'member is 'at I was a-livin' with Gran'pa Simon in Philadelphy. He
wasn't my gran'pa, though; if he had 'a' been he wouldn't 'a' 'bused