Burnham Breaker | Page 8

protest, but kept on:--
"You and your wife were rescued in an unconscious state, were you not, just as the fire was creeping up to you?"
The old man seemed to take delight in torturing his hearer by calling up painful memories. Receiving no answer to his question, he continued:--
"But the boy, the boy Ralph, he perished, didn't he? Was burned up in the wreck, wasn't he?"
"Stop!" exclaimed Burnham. "You have said enough. If you have any object in repeating this harrowing story, let me know what it is at once; if not, I have no time to listen to you further."
"I have an object," replied Craft, deliberately, "a most important object, which I will disclose to you if you will be good enough to answer my question. Your boy Ralph was burned up in the wreck at Cherry Bridge, wasn't he?"
"Yes, he was. That is our firm belief; what then?"
"Simply this, that you are mistaken."
"What do you mean?"
"Your boy is not dead."
Burnham started to his feet, unable for the moment to speak. His face took on a sudden pallor, then a smile of incredulity settled on his lips.
"You are wild," he said; "the child perished; we have abundant proof of it."
"I say the child is not dead," persisted the old man; "I saw him--yesterday."
"Then, bring him to me. Bring him to me and I will believe you."
Burnham had settled down into his chair with a look of weary hopelessness on his face.
"You have no faith in me," said Craft. "Mere perversity might make you fail to recognize the child. Suppose I show you further proofs of the truth of what I say."
"Very well; produce them."
The old man bent down, took his leather hand-bag from the floor, and placed it on the table before him. The exertion brought on a spasm of coughing. When he had recovered from this, he drew an old wallet from his pocket and took from it a key, with which he unlocked the satchel. Then, drawing forth a package and untying and unrolling it, he shook it out and held it up for Robert Burnham to look at. It was a little flannel cloak. It had once been white, but it was sadly stained and soiled now. The delicate ribbons that had ornamented it were completely faded, and out of the front a great hole had been burned, the edges of which were still black and crumbling.
"Do you recognize it?" asked the old man.
Burnham seized it with both hands.
"It is his!" he exclaimed. "It is Ralph's! He wore it that day. Where did you get it? Where did you get it, I say?"
Craft did not reply. He was searching in his hand-bag for something else. Finally he drew out a child's cap, a quaint little thing of velvet and lace, and laid it on the table.
This, too, was grasped by Burnham with eager fingers, and looked upon with loving eyes.
"Do you still think me wild?" said the old man, "or do you believe now that I have some knowledge of what I am talking about?"
His listener did not answer the question. His mind seemed to be far away. He said, finally:--
"There--there was a locket, a little gold locket. It had his father's picture in it. Did--did you find that?"
The visitor smiled, opened the wallet again, and produced the locket. The father took it in his trembling hands, looked on it very tenderly for a moment, and then his eyes became flooded with tears.
"It was his," he said at last, very gently; "they were all his; tell me now--where did you get them?"
"I came by them honestly, Mr. Burnham, honestly; and I have kept them faithfully. But I will tell you the whole story. I think you are ready now to hear it with attention, and to consider it fairly."
The old man pushed his satchel aside, pulled his chair closer to the table, cleared his throat, and began:--
"It was May 13, 1859. I'd been out in the country at my son's, and was riding into the city in the evening. I was in the smoking-car. Along about nine o'clock there was a sudden jerk, then half a dozen more jerks, and the train came to a dead stop. I got up and went out with the rest, and we then saw that the bridge had broken down, and the three cars behind the smoker had tumbled into the creek. I hurried down the bank and did what I could to help those in the wreck, but it was very dark and the cars were piled up in a heap, and it was hard to do anything. Then the fire broke out and we had to stand back. But I heard a child crying by a broken window, just where the middle car had struck across the rear one,