She was not alone now. A pale-faced young man of about thirty stood by her side. Ralph presumed that this was her son, David, to whom she had so frequently referred.
"Did you get it—did you get it?" she called out anxiously, as Ralph ran up to the invalid chair.
"Yes, ma'am," responded Ralph, handing over the box.
"Oh, dear! Oh, how shall I ever thank you? David, he is a brave, noble boy!" and hugging the box to her breast, the old woman wept hysterically.
"You saved my mother's life," spoke the young man, placing a hand that trembled on Ralph's shoulder.
"I am glad if that is so," said Ralph.
"David! David! David!"
Just here the old woman interrupted with startling suddenness. Ralph turned quickly toward her in amazement. Her son ran to her side, very much alarmed. She had shouted out his name in such a lost, despairing tone that both her auditors were thrilled.
"Mother—what is it?" cried the young man.
The old woman waved the tin box that Ralph had just given her.
"It was tied with twine—in a sheet of writing
