Captain Evans, for it was he, threw back his head and laughed heartily in such a very alive way that Mabel could not doubt for a moment that he was flesh and blood. “I feel very much alive to-day,” he assured her. “Are you Miss Ford?” he asked.
“No,” Mabel returned, “I’m only the middle one, and I’ll not be anything else, till Alice is married.”
Captain Evans laughed again. Mabel thought he seemed a very jolly person.
“You’re really Harold’s father,” she said. “Oh, do hurry in and see him, for he thought he didn’t have a father any more, and he was so miserable.”
Captain Evans instantly became grave.
“Did he really believe that? My poor little boy,” and he hurried up the walk.
Mabel, flying ahead of him, ran up the steps crying joyfully, “Harold! Harold! Quick!” And she almost fell over him as he appeared at the head of the stairs.
“He is alive! He is! He is!” she cried. “Come down.”
But Harold needed no second bidding, for he had caught sight of a beloved figure already mounting the stairs, and, with one shout of joy, he threw himself into his father’s arms, and was fairly lifted off his feet in the energy of the greeting that his father gave him.
It was all easily enough explained, when one realizes that Evans is not a very uncommon name, and had there been time to make a few more inquiries, the fact would have been brought to light that the Captain Evans who died at camp was another man, whose son Harry was a a boy of fifteen, with several sisters and brothers.