"Ralph Middlemore," I replied; "and my sister is called Clarice."
"Ralph!" repeated the stranger; "that was my father's name."
"I was called after my grandfather," I observed,--"Ralph Crockett."
I do not know how I came to say that. My companion started, and gazing
at me attentively, asked,--"What was your mother's name?"
"Mary."
"Where is she now?" he inquired eagerly.
"She died after we began this sad journey," I said.
The stranger was silent, stifling some deep emotion.
"Your sister is like her,--very like what she was at the same age. You
have heard of Jeff Crockett, boy? I am your Uncle Jeff; and though I
have much to mourn for, I thank Heaven I was sent to rescue Mary's
children in their distress. And Clarice! she has been to me as an angel
of light. You remember that she gave me a book. I took it to please
her, not intending to read it; but I did read it, and it showed me what
I was--a wretched, lost sinner. I learned that I was like the prodigal
son; and as I heard that my earthly father was no more, I determined to
go to my Heavenly Father, knowing that he would receive me. He has done
so, and I can now say honestly that I am a Christian, and fit to take
charge of Mary's children."
I need say very little more than that from this time Uncle Jeff
constituted himself our guardian, and that we thankfully accompanied him
to the new location he was forming at Roaring Water.
And now I shall resume my narrative at the point at which I interrupted
it to give the reader a bit of my family history.