“Homer! Homer!” the distracted father cried, but unconcerned the boy walked on. Mr. Wallace started on a run but despaired of reaching him. He repeated his warning cry when suddenly the boy tripped and stumbled, almost fell—recalling him to himself, but the nearness of the approaching train, the certainty of impending fate seemed to stun him and he stood stock still, with white set face, awaiting the coming shock. Mr. Wallace calling again, “Homer! Homer! quick, aside,” covered his eyes with his hand so as not to witness the dread disaster.
The next moment the train went speeding by, sending the icy chills through his veins. Dreading to look up, expecting to see only the mangled remains of his child Mr. Wallace with white lips and blanched face, opened his eyes to see a stalwart, manly figure, a face encircled by clustering dark locks, lit up by piercing black eyes, and in his arms holding the half-fainting form of Homer.
The revulsion of feeling was so great that the strong man reeled, and when he saw and recognized who it was that had been the savior of his boy a film gathered over his eyes. He staggered as he made his way to where the stranger stood, still clasping the careless boy in his arms. Both hands were outstretched to clasp those of the rescuer but the stiff lips refused to articulate the words he would have spoken.
By this time Homer had recovered himself sufficiently to free himself from the firm clasp, and to say,
“All right, old man! No need of being so scared. I have not gone to ‘kingdom come’—not just yet.”
But not on the boy were the eyes of Mr. Wallace riveted. As if fascinated they hung upon that other young face while his own was working strangely.
“I presume you are the father of this young man?” spoke a clear, full-toned, manly voice.
“Wilbur!” came in husky, broken accents from the pallid lips of Mr. Wallace. “Wilbur, do you not know me?”—in a hesitating, supplicating manner, extending both hands to the young man.
Wilbur started and changed color, retreating a step and bending a searching glance upon the elder man. “You are——my——”
“Father!” interrupted Mr. Wallace. “Yes, I am your father, and the boy whose life you have just saved is your brother.”