"That I will do right gladly," said the stranger.
When I told him how I was engaged, he immediately sent some of his men, and they at once set to work and dug a deep grave. Our poor father having then been placed in it, they raised over it a pile of heavy logs.
"I wish we could have done better for him," said the stranger; "but many a fine fellow sleeps under such a monument as that."
I need not dwell upon our grief as we watched these proceedings. I was sure that the sooner Clarice was away from the spot the better it would be for her; so, as the leader of the emigrant train did not wish to delay longer than was necessary, I assisted in harnessing the animals to our waggon, and we at once moved on.
I was walking beside our new friend, when he asked me my name.
"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."