In the overwhelming joy of the moment, Tom Evert had no thought save for the son whom he had snatched from the very gates of death. He was absolutely unconscious of the presence of another human being in the breast, nor did the broken words of blessing and gratitude uttered by the faint-voiced miners find their way to his ear. His instinct was to get his lad out from that stifling, foul-aired place, and, still holding him in his arms, he crawled back through the heading, was borne swiftly across the waters from which he had snatched their prey, and drawn up the slope.

As he stepped from the car at its mouth, and they saw what it was he bore so tenderly and proudly, a mighty cheer went up from the assembled throng. Another and another. They were wild with joy. The long suspense was over, the terrible strain was relaxed, and they gave way to their feelings.

Suddenly they noticed that the drooping head of the lad was not lifted from the broad shoulder on which it rested. His arms hung limp and lifeless. A great silence came over the multitude. They stood awe-stricken, as in the presence of death, and pressing aside in front of the advancing miner, they made way for him to pass.

Still bearing his burden, unconscious of all besides, and looking neither to the right nor to the left, Tom Evert passed through the human lane thus formed, and went home home to the rude, unpainted house in which Paul was born, and which, during the darkness and despair of the past five days, had been a constant picture before his mind’s eye home to the mother whose tenderest love has ever been for her crippled boy. Home!

Although Tom Evert, with eyes and ears only for his own, had no thought of the others for whom he had broken open the prison door, there was no lack of warm hearts and willing hands to help them.

Following close after the miner Warren Jones entered the breast, and directly behind him was Jack Hobson. The light from their lamps dazzled the eyes that for three days had lived in a darkness as absolute as though no light existed in the universe. Turning them away from the light, the prisoners listened eagerly for the voices of their deliverers. The first words they heard were from the mine boss, the man on whom they had depended, and who they knew had planned and carried out their rescue.

“Are you all here, men?”

“There’s nine of us.”

“And all alive?”

“All alive yet, thank God; though Boodle, poor lad, is wellnigh gone.”

“Where is Derrick Sterling?”

“Here I am, sir,” came a weak but well-known voice from back in the darkness.

Before Mr. Jones could locate it, the young man who had followed him so closely into the breast sprang to the side of the lad, and seizing his hand, exclaimed,

“Derrick Sterling, you are a splendid fellow, and this is one of the very happiest moments of my life!”

“Who are you?” asked Derrick, faintly.

“My name is Allan McClain,” was the answer, “and if you will give me your friendship I shall consider it an honor to be proud of.”

Trying weakly to return the hand-pressure of the young stranger, Derrick answered,

“He who has come to our rescue at the risk of his own life must indeed be my friend!”

Then the mine boss found them, and saying, “Drink this, my poor, brave lad,” gave him a cup of rich warm soup, that had been made nearly an hour before, and kept warm over a spirit-lamp in the boat, just outside the heading.

It filled the boy with new life, and when he and the others had drank of it all that was allowed them, they felt strong enough to crawl out through the heading.

Derrick was the first to go and the first to be drawn up the slope, supported in the car by the young man to whom he had just given his friendship. As they approached the blessed sunlight, and the weary lad caught its first gleam, still far above him, he pressed the hand of his companion, and could do nothing but gaze at it. Could it be the very light of day that he had longed for and prayed for and despaired of ever seeing again? He knew it must be, but it seemed almost too glorious to be real.

When they reached the surface, the light that had roused such a tumult of feeling within him revealed two great tears coursing slowly down through the grime of his hollow cheeks.

The excitement over Paul Evert’s appearance was as nothing compared with that aroused by the sight of Derrick Sterling. Had not his name been a household word throughout the land for days? Was he not a brave fellow whom they all loved? Could they cheer loud enough or long enough to do him honor, and testify their joy at his deliverance? It did not seem as though they could; and poor Derrick stood before them, trembling with strong emotion, without knowing which way to turn or look.

The reporters, who were taking mental notes of his appearance, also gazed curiously at the young man who had come up from the mine with him, and on whom he now leaned. He was a miner, of course, for he was dressed in mine clothes, and was as begrimed as the sootiest delver of them all, but who was he? He had somewhere lost his miner’s cap, and the yellow, close-cropped curls of his uncovered head had a strangely familiar look.

He noticed their stares, knew what was passing in their minds, and laughingly said:

“Yes, fellows; I’m McClain of the Explorer, and I guess I’ve got a beat on you all this time.” Then to Derrick he said, “Come, Sterling, we must get out of this; there’s a mother waiting for you over there.”

Just then another car-load of rescued men was drawn up, and again the excited spectators broke forth in a tumult of cheers. Under cover of this diversion, Derrick, half supported by Allan McClain, walked slowly away towards the little vine-covered cottage at the end of the village street. Here his mother awaited him, for she felt that their meeting was something too sacred to be witnessed by stranger eyes.

At the mouth of the slope similar meetings were taking place between others who had less self-control or less delicacy, but who, in their way, showed equal affection and deep feeling. Wives greeted husbands who appeared to them as risen from the dead, and mothers wept over sons whom they had deemed lost to them forever.

As Monk Tooley stepped from the car, the first to hold out a hand to him was his son Bill, leaning on a crutch, and still bearing traces of his illness. His greeting was,

“Well, feyther, we’ve missed yer sad! Thought maybe yer wouldn’t get back no more.”

“I’m not dat easy got rid of, lad. Had a plenty ter eat, hain’t yer?”

“Plenty, feyther, sich as it was.”

“Dat’s more’n I have, an’ I hope yer’ve saved a bite fer yer dad. Starvin’s hungry work.”

Nothing else was overheard; but the tones of the rough man and his equally rough son held an unwonted accent of tenderness. As they grasped each other’s hand, one gazed curiously at his father’s haggard face, and the other cast a pitying glance at his son’s rude crutch.

Not the least interested spectator of these touching scenes was Mr. Halford, who had arrived that morning from Philadelphia. When, after all the rest had been sent safely to the surface the mine boss was drawn up the slope, and was in turn greeted with a rousing cheer, that gentlemen slipped an arm through his, and led him away, saying,

“You have done nobly, Warren, and I am proud to call you brother.”

“I could have done nothing, Harold, if these brave fellows had not stood by me as they have.”

“And they could have done nothing without your level head to direct them and your splendid example to stimulate them.”

So the great colliery disaster was happily ended, and in Raven Brook village great sorrow was turned to great joy.

As the two gentlemen sat talking together in the room that the mine boss called his den, that evening, Mr. Halford said,

“By-the-way, Warren, I did not take this trip wholly out of curiosity to witness your rescue of the miners. I want to learn something of this young Sterling. Did you know his father?”

“Yes, he was one of my warmest friends.”

“Was his name Gilbert?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know whether he ever lived in Crawford County?”

“That is where he came from; he was born and raised there.”

“Did you ever hear him speak of owning any property there?”

“I have heard him mention a little old rocky farm that was left to him; but he always spoke of it as being too poor to have any value. In fact he once told me that it was not worth the taxes he paid on it.”

“I declare, I believe it is the very place! If these Sterlings turn out to be the people you lead me to think they are, Warren, there’s a small fortune awaiting them.”

“What! a fortune awaiting the widow Sterling and Derrick? It can’t be! Why, they haven’t a relative in the world.”

“That may all be, but what I tell you is true. If this Gilbert Sterling was a son of Deacon Giles Sterling of Newfields, in Crawford County, his heirs are the owners of one of the most valuable bits of property in the State. Why, man, this little old rocky farm you speak of, if it is the same and I am inclined to think it must be lies in the very centre of the richest oil district that has yet been discovered. The best-paying well owned by our company is located on its border. For a clear title to that farm I am authorized to offer twenty-five thousand dollars cash, and a one-fifth interest in whatever oil may be taken from it.”

The next morning Mr. Jones called at the Sterlings’, and was amazed to find Derrick already showing signs of recovery. A splendid constitution and a determined will, aided by twelve hours of sleep and an abundance of nourishing food, were already beginning to efface the traces of hunger and suffering.

The boy gave his visitor a cheerful greeting, and tried to express something of his gratitude in words, but they failed him utterly.

The other said, “Don’t try, Derrick. It’s over now, and we all have cause for the most profound gratitude; but each of us understands the other’s feelings, and there is no need of words between us.”

Mrs. Sterling’s eyes were filled with happy tears as, sitting beside her son, she tried to tell something of the pride she felt in him. After a while she said,

“I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help trying to look ahead a little, and, I confess, with some anxiety. I want my boy to do what is right, and I do not want him to remain idle; but oh! Mr. Jones, I cannot let him go down into that awful mine again. It has nearly killed him; and I am sure I could not survive another such experience.”

“I don’t blame you for feeling as you do,” said the young man, “and I think perhaps some other arrangement can be made. One reason for my calling this morning was to ask if I might bring a gentleman to see you who is greatly interested in Derrick, and desirous of making his acquaintance. Are you willing that I should, and do you think Derrick is strong enough to receive visitors?”

“Certainly I am,” said Mrs. Sterling; and Derrick answered for himself that he felt strong enough to see any number of gentlemen who were interested in him.

So Mr. Jones left them, and shortly afterwards returned with Mr. Halford, who soon won his way to the mother’s heart by saying pleasant things about her boy, and to Derrick’s by thanking him for his kindness to Mrs. Halford and Miss Nellie. He said that he had been especially commissioned by his daughter to inquire concerning the welfare of her bumping-mule, and was glad to hear from Derrick that that knowing animal was rapidly recovering from his injuries.

The conversation was led on from one thing to another, until Mr. Halford was satisfied that he had really found the family of whom he was in search. Then he told them of the good-fortune in store for them, provided they could prove their ownership of the little Bradford County farm.

Trembling with excitement, Mrs. Sterling brought out a box full of her husband’s papers, among which was found a deed for the farm, and receipts for taxes paid up to the time of his death.

Having satisfied himself of the correctness of these, Mr. Halford made them the offer of which he had spoken to Mr. Jones the evening before. Then he left them, saying he knew they would want some time to consider his proposition, and that he would call the next day to learn their decision.

After their visitors had gone, Derrick and his mother gazed wonderingly at each other. Could it all be true? Were their days of poverty really over? Was the overworked mother to have a release from the toil and the bitter anxieties that made her look so thin and careworn? Were Derrick’s dreams of a college education and a profession about to be realized?

Long and earnestly they talked, but not as to what answer they should give Mr. Halford. They had decided that almost before he left. They talked with grateful and loving hearts of the Heavenly Father who had so ordered their ways as to turn their very darkness into brightest light. As she thought over her mercies, the wonderful promises that had sustained the widowed mother through so many an hour of trial came back to her with their fullest force.

That afternoon Derrick felt strong enough to walk out, and went to the Everts’ to see his dear friend and recent companion in suffering. He found Paul able to see and talk to him, but in bed, and very weak and languid.

“If I could only get away, far away from it all, Dare,” he said. “The horror of the mine hangs over me all the time, and I’d almost rather never get well than go down into it again.”

Then Derrick bent down and whispered something that brought a new light into the crippled lad’s eyes and a faint flush to his pale cheeks.

“Oh, Dare!” he exclaimed. “Is it true? Really! Do you mean it?”

Derrick answered that it was true, and he meant every word of it.