He looked at the reddening east, at the setting stars still glowing in
the western sky, at the city church spires rising out of the sea of
silver mist far down below him, and then at last up into the dear old
face and the tear-wet eyes above him, and he said: "Uncle Billy, oh,
Uncle Billy! don't you think it's beautiful? I wish--I wish my mother
could see it."
"Aye, lad! she s'all look upon it wi' ye, mony's the sweet mornin'
yet, an it please the good God."
The effort to look and to speak had overpowered the weary child, and
he sank back again into unconsciousness.
Then began the journey home. Not to the old cottage; that was Ralph's
home no longer, but to the home of wealth and beauty now, to the
mansion yonder in the city where the mother was waiting for her boy.
Aye! the mother was waiting for her boy.
They had sent a messenger on horseback shortly after midnight to tell
her that the lad's tracks had been found in the old mine, that all the
men at hand had started in there to make the search more thorough,
that by daylight the child would be in her arms, that possibly, oh! by
the merest possibility, he might still be living.
So through the long hours she had waited, had waited and watched,
listening for a footfall in the street, for a step on the porch, for
a sound at her door; yet no one came. The darkness that lay upon the
earth seemed, also, to lie heavily on her spirit.
But now, at last, with the gray light that told of coming day, there
crept into her heart a hope, a confidence, a serenity of faith that
set it quite at rest.
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