Will and his friend offered to attend to the broken window in the old
factory for Ralph, and the latter was glad to accept the tendered
service.
He gave them the price of glass and putty, and a blunt case knife, told
them they would find his rule under the window, and as they departed
felt assured they would attend to the matter with promptness and
dispatch.
Ralph had something on his mind that he felt he could best carry out
alone, and after their departure he left his mother quietly sewing in
her rocking chair to watch their placidly slumbering guest.
"The boy is a stranger here, of course," Ralph ruminated. "Where did he
come from? I hope I will find something among his belongings that will
tell."
They were poor belongings, and now hung across a clothes line in the
back yard, drying in the warm sunshine.
The coat and trousers were of coarse material, clumsily patched here and
there as if by a novice, and Ralph decided did not bear that certain
unmistakable trace that tells of home or motherly care.
In the trousers pocket Ralph found a coil of string, a blunt bladed
pocket knife, and a hunk of linen thread with a couple of needles stuck
in it--this was all.
The coat contained not a single clew as to the identity of the stranger,
not a hint of his regular place of residence, whence he had come or
whither he was going.
It held but one object--a letter which the boy when pursued by the depot
guardians had shown to Ralph the morning previous, and which at that
time with considerable astonishment Ralph had observed bore the
superscription: "Mr. John Fairbanks."
He had thought of the letter and wondered at its existence, the possible
sender, the singular messenger, a score of times since he had attempted
to take it from the dead-head passenger of the 10.15.
Now he held it in his grasp, but Ralph handled it gingerly. The
envelope was soaking wet, just as was the coat and the pocket he had
taken it from. As he removed it from its resting place he observed that
the poor ink of the superscription had run, and the letters of the
address were faded and fast disappearing.
To open it with any hope of removing its contents intact in its present
condition was clearly impossible. Ralph held it carefully against the
sunlight. Its envelope was thin, and he saw dark patches and blurs
inside, indicating that the writing there had run also.
"I had better let it dry before I attempt to open it," decided Ralph,
and he placed it on a smooth board near the well in the full focus of
the bright sunshine.
A good deal hinged on that letter, he told himself. It would at all
events settle the identity of his dead father's correspondent, again it
would divulge who it was that had sent the letter and the messenger, and
thus the unfortunate's friends could be found. It would take a little
time to dry out the soggy envelope, and Ralph paced about the garden
paths, whistling softly to himself and thinking hard over the queer
happenings of the past twenty-four hours.
As he passed the window of the little sitting room, he tiptoed the
gravel path up to it and glanced in.
His mother still sat in the rocker, but she had fallen into a slight
doze, and her sewing lay idle in her lap. Ralph, transferring his gaze
to the armchair where they had so comfortably bestowed the invalid,
fairly started with astonishment.
"Why, he isn't there!" breathed Ralph in some alarm, and ran around to
the entrance by the kitchen door.
At its threshold Ralph paused, enchained by the unexpected picture there
disclosed to his view.
The injured boy stood at the sink. He had found and tied about his
waist a work apron belonging to Mrs. Fairbanks. Before him was the
dishpan half-full of water, and he had washed and wiped neatly and
quickly the dishes from the tray.
He arranged the various articles in their respective drawers and
shelves, stood back viewing them with satisfaction, removed the apron,
carefully hung it up, and went to the open back door leading into the
wood shed.
Ralph's alarm for fear that his guest had wandered off or might do
himself a mischief, gave place to pleased interest.
It looked as if the strange boy had been used to some methodical
features of domestic life, and habit was fitting him readily and
comfortably into the groove in which he found himself.
Ralph decided that he would not startle or disturb the stranger, but
would watch to see what he did next.
The boy glanced towards the wood box behind the cook stove. In the
hurry of the past twenty-four hours Ralph had not found time to keep it
as well filled as usual.
His guest evidently observed this, went into the wood shed, seated
himself on the chopping log, and seizing the short handled ax there,
began chopping the sawed lengths piled near at hand with a pleased,
hearty good will.
Mrs. Fairbanks, disturbed by the sound of chopping, had awakened, and
with some trepidation came hurrying from the sitting room, anxiously
seeking to learn what had become of their guest.
Ralph motioned her to silence, his finger on his lip, and pointed
significantly through the open rear doorway.
A pathetic sympathy crossed the widow's face and the tears came into her
eyes. Ralph left her to keep an unobtrusive watch on their guest, and
returning to the well, found the envelope he had left there pretty well
dried out.
He carefully removed the envelope, and placed it in his pocket. Then he
as carefully unfolded the sheet within.
An expression of dismay crossed his face. The inside screed had not
been written in ink, but with a soft purple lead pencil. This the rain
had affected even more than it had the envelope in which it had been
enclosed.
At first sight the missive was an indecipherable blur, but scanning it
more closely, Ralph gained some faint hope that he might make out at
least a part of its contents.
He had a magnifying glass in his workroom in the attic, and he went
there for it. For nearly an hour Ralph pored over the sheet of paper
which he held in his hand.
His face was a study as he came downstairs again, and sought his mother.
She sat near the doorway between the kitchen and the sitting room, where
she could keep sight of their guest.
The invalid was seated on the door step of the wood shed shelling a pan
of peas, as happy and contented a mortal as one would see in a day's
journey.
"He is a good boy," said the widow softly to Ralph, "and winsome with
his gentle, easy ways. He seems to delight in occupation. What is it,
Ralph?" she added, as she noted the serious, preoccupied look on her
son's face.
"It is about the letter, mother," explained Ralph. "I told you partly
about it. It was certainly directed to father, and some one employed or
sent this boy to deliver it."
"Who was it, Ralph?" inquired Mrs. Fairbanks.
"That I can not tell."
"Was it not signed?"
"It was once, but the upper fold and the lower fold of the sheet are a
perfect blur. I have been able to make out a few words here and there
in the center portion, but they tell nothing coherently."
Mrs. Fairbanks looked disappointed.
"That is unfortunate, Ralph," she said. "I hoped it would give some
token of this boy's home or friends. But probably, when he does not
return, and no answer comes to that letter, the writer will send another
letter by mail."
"The boy may have been only incidentally employed to deliver it,"
suggested Ralph, "and not particularly known to the sender at all."
"I can not imagine who would be writing to your dead father," said Mrs.
Fairbanks thoughtfully. "It can scarcely be of much importance."
"Mother," said Ralph, with an emphasis that impressed the widow, "I am
satisfied this letter was of unusual importance--so much so that a
special messenger was employed, and that is what puzzles me. A line in
it was plainly 'your railroad bonds,' another as plainly refers to 'the
mortgage,' the last word heads like 'Farewell,' and there is something
that looks very much like: 'to get even with that old schemer, Gasper
Farrington.'"
The widow started violently.
"Why, Ralph!" she exclaimed.
"Yes, mother. We may never know more than this. It is all a strange
proceeding, but if that poor fellow out yonder could tell all he knows,
I believe it would surprise and enlighten us very much, and in a way
greatly for our benefit."
"Then we must wait with patience, and hope with courage," said Mrs.
Fairbanks calmly.
Ralph felt all that he said. He could not get the letter out of his
mind that evening.
They fitted up a little spare room off the dining room for their guest.
He went quietly to bed when they led him there, after enjoying a good,
supper, never speaking a word, never smiling, but with a pleased nod
betokening that he appreciated every little kindness they showed him.
The next morning Ralph Fairbanks went to work at the roundhouse.