"If you are David Breslow Porter, a twin brother to Dunston Porter."
"I am."
"Then I am your son—the one who was stolen from you by the nurse, Polly Margot, and her worthless husband, Sandy."
"It is—is marvellous! I can hardly believe it!" murmured Mr. Porter.
"But it is true—and I can easily prove it, father," answered the youth, in a happy tone. He bent over and kissed his parent. "Oh, I am so glad I have found you!"
"Yes! yes! I am glad too!" Mr. Porter's eyes began to beam. "But I—I—really can't understand it yet! I—my son, my little Dave! Why, it sounds like a fairy tale! I must be dreaming." He caught Dave by the shoulder. "Is it really, really so?"
"It is, father, and I'll explain it all after awhile. But now you are hurt, and you must take it easy. Did you tumble over the cliff, or did that bear——"
"Both, Dave. How queer it sounds to call you Dave, my Dave!" Mr. Porter caught the boy around the neck. "I can't believe it yet—I really can't. Where have you been all these years? And how did you learn——"
"I'll tell you afterwards, father—when we are safe. Then you fell over the cliff?"
"Yes, and while I was trying to crawl away to some spot to rest the bear got after me and scratched me in the ear. I let him have a bullet in his neck and that made him retreat. But then he came at me again, and I don't know what I should have done if it hadn't been for your arrival. The pistol is empty, as you can see."