THE EXPOSURE--CONCLUSION.
Let us again shift the scene to Westville, and for the last time.
Mrs. Nelson had recovered from the first effects of her severe shock
attending the announcement that her son was dead, but she was still very
weak and sick.
"Poor Ralph! poor Ralph!" she murmured, over and over again, as she sat by,
the kitchen window, while kind-hearted Mrs. Corcoran moved about doing the
simple household duties. "Oh, Mrs. Corcoran, it cannot be possible, can
it?"
"There, there, try to think of something else, that's a good dear!"
returned the neighbor, sympathetically. "It won't do any good to brood over
the matter."
"But Ralph was my only child! And his father gone, too!" and Mrs. Nelson
heaved a deep sigh, while the tears streamed down her cheeks anew.
The widow's sorrow was deep, and up to now she had not allowed herself to
think of aught else. She was alone in the world, so she thought, and did
not care how the future shaped itself.
Presently there was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Corcoran opened it to
admit Squire Paget. The head man of the village wore a look of hypocritical
sympathy upon his sharp features.
"I was just going over the bridge to Eastport," he explained, "and thought
I would drop in for a neighborly chat."
Even in this simple statement he could not put a grain of truth. He had
made a special trip to the cottage, and had come solely for his own selfish
ends.
Mrs. Corcoran bid him welcome, and offered him a chair.
"I trust you do not let your sorrow rest too deeply upon you, widow," he
went on, to Mrs. Nelson. "We all have our trials in this world," and he
gave a grunt that was meant for a deep sigh.
"How can I help it, squire?" she replied. "Ralph was all the world to me."
"So was my late wife, widow, and yet I had to give her up;" and again he
gave a grunt-like sigh.
This statement did not affect Mrs. Nelson greatly. She knew that it was a
fact that the squire and his late wife had quarreled continually, and that
many had said he had not cared at all when death had relieved him of her
companionship.
"I was wondering what you intended to do," went on the squire, after an
awkward pause. "Do you intend to stay here?"
"I do not know yet, squire."
"I should think you would want to change your surroundings. Does not
everything in this cottage remind you of your late husband and late son?"
"Indeed it does!" cried Mrs. Nelson. "Sometimes I cannot bear it!"
"If I were you I would sell out and go elsewhere," suggested the squire,
coming around to the subject that was on his mind. "Perhaps a little trip
somewhere would do you a world of good."
"It would do her good," put in simple-minded Mrs. Corcoran, who believed
the squire sincere.
"I cannot afford a trip," sighed Mrs. Nelson. "Besides--I--I--sometimes
think that Ralph may come back," she faltered.
"Never, in this life, widow," returned the squire, solemnly. "Alas! the
dead never return, no matter how much we love them."
"Sometimes they do, Squire Paget!" cried a young voice from the open
doorway, and Ralph sprang into the room. "Mother!"
"Ralph, my son!" screamed Mrs. Nelson. "Thank Heaven for its many mercies!"
And she thew herself into Ralph's arms, while the tears of sorrow were
quickly turned to tears of joy.
Squire Paget was dumbfounded. He stared at Ralph as if the boy was an
apparition.
"Is it really you, Ralph?" he stammered at last.
"Sure, an' it is, Heaven bless him!" put in Mrs. Corcoran.
"And where have you been, Ralph?" cried Mrs. Nelson, when she could again
speak.
"I have been in New York. You would have heard from me before had not that
villain stolen the letter I sent."
"Villain, Ralph----"
"Yes, villain, mother. Squire Paget is the blackest-hearted wretch in
Westville."
"What's this, and to me!" ejaculated the squire.
"Yes, to you, Squire Paget, you mean, contemptible coward!" returned the
boy, boldly. "Look at him, mother, and see him quail while I tell you of
all he has done."
"I have done nothing," faltered the squire, but he looked as if he wished
to sink through the floor.
"He hired two men to throw me over the cliff on Tree Top Island, and when
they failed, he got one of the men to follow me to New York and try to put
me out of existence there."
"Oh, Ralph, I cannot believe it!"
"It is all true, mother. Here is Mr. Kelsey, and he will tell you the
same."
"This is preposterous----" began the squire, faintly, but Ralph cut him
short.
"It is all true. The man who followed me to New York was Martin Thomas. He
is now in jail and has confessed all."
The squire tottered as if struck a blow. He tried to speak, but the words
would not come.
"And do you know why he did it?" went on Ralph. "He had the missing papers,
and wished to get hold of our property here. But the missing papers we have
found----"
"Found!"
The squire managed to gasp out the single word.
"Yes, found. They were in a registered letter sent by Squire Paget to some
friend in New York. They were stolen by the post office thieves, who are
now in custody. And, by the way, squire, shall I tell you who the thieves
were? Dock Brady, a man named Cassidy, and a boy named Percy Paget."
It was a final and telling blow. The squire fell back, pale and trembling.
Ralph faced him dauntlessly, while the others stood around, holding their
breath.
Squire Paget could not answer. He wanted to speak, but not a word would his
tongue utter. He looked about for his silk hat, and, finding it, dashed out
of the house as if a legion of demons were after him.
We will pass over the immediate scenes that followed. Mrs. Nelson could not
let Ralph leave her side for the rest of the day, and Horace Kelsey
undertook to follow the squire and bring him to terms.
But the exposure had been too much for Squire Paget. He disappeared that
night, leaving his business affairs just as they were. It was not until a
year afterward that he was heard from as living in an obscure state in a
little town in Canada.
On the strength of his confession, Ralph did not appear against Martin
Thomas, and the man got off with a very light sentence. Toglet took time by
the forelock, and fled to the Southwest.
The post office robbers were all heavily punished, although Percy Paget, on
account of his years, received a lighter sentence than his older
companions.
It was not long before the papers which had been missing were turned over
to Mrs. Nelson. Under Ralph's advice, the entire question of property was
placed in Horace Kelsey's charge.
The insurance agent was not long in finding out what Squire Paget had
intended to do with the land along the lake front. Part of it was to be
turned over to a syndicate for a factory site, and the balance was to be
cut up and sold as town lots. The plan was carried out later on for Mrs.
Nelson's benefit, and the sum of seventy thousand dollars was eventually
realized out of the transaction.
Of course this made the widow and her son the richest people in the
village. Ralph at once left off work, and took up his studies, and passed
through Yale College with high honors. To-day he is the mayor of Westville,
honored and loved by all who know him, and here we will leave him.
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Young Bridge-Tender, by Arthur M. Winfield