“An’ now, my boy,” said the boatman as they reached the West Port, “I hae business to do at the Customhouse, an’ some money to get; but I maun first try and find out your friends for ye. Look at the letters and tell me the street where they put up.” The boy untied his little bundle, which contained a few shirts and stockings, a parcel of papers, and a small box.--“What’s a’ the papers about?” inquired the boatman; “an’ what hae ye in the wee box?” “My mither,” said the boy, “bade me be sure to keep the papers, for they tell of her marriage to my father; and the box hauds her ring. She could have got money for it when she was sick and no able to work, but she would sooner starve, she said, than part wi’ it; and I widna like to part wi’ it, either, to ony bodie but yoursel’--but if ye would take it?” He opened the box and passed it to his companion. It contained a valuable diamond ring. “No, no, my boy,” said the boatman, “that widna do; the ring’s a bonny ring, an’ something bye ordinar, though I be no judge; but, blessings on your heart! tak ye care o’t, an’ part wi’t on no account to ony bodie;--Hae ye found out the direction?” The boy named some place in the vicinity of the Cowgate, and in a few minutes they were both walking up the Grassmarket. “O, yonder’s my aunt!” exclaimed the boy, pointing to a young woman who was coming down the street; “yonder’s my mither’s sister;” and away he sprang to meet her. She immediately recognised and welcomed him; and he introduced the boatman to her as the kind friend who had rescued him from the snow-storm and the ferryman. She related in a few words the story of the boy’s parents. His father had been a dissipated young man of good family, whose follies had separated him from his friends; and the difference he had rendered irreconcilable by marrying a low-born but industrious and virtuous young woman, who, despite of her birth, was deserving of a better husband. In a few years he had sunk into indigence and contempt; and in the midst of a wretchedness which would have been still more complete had it not been for the efforts of his wife, he was seized by a fever, of which he died. “Two of his brothers,” said the woman, “who are gentlemen of the law, were lately inquiring about the boy, and will, I hope, interest themselves in his behalf.” In this hope the boatman cordially acquiesced. “An’ now, my boy,” said he, as he bade him farewell, “I have just one groat left yet;--here it is; better in your pocket than wi’ the gruff carle at the ferry. It’s an honest groat, anyhow; an’ I’m sure I wish it luck.”