“Yes, officer. I could not rest and know that my brother was here in prison, all on my account. I am the cause of it all. I should have written home after I left. I should have written to my dear mother. Then I could have been notified when she died, and poor Oliver would not be in this trouble. That is why I am taking all this disgrace upon myself.
“Brother, I am going to help you, but not in the way I asked you to be helped at first. I am going to take you home now, and introduce you to my family, and try to have a family reunion, in honor of the prodigal son’s return—in honor of poor mother.”
“You may go now, Mr. Pearson. I can spare you for a few hours.”
“Come along, brother. Clasp my hand and we will walk hand in hand to my home—or, rather, yours, and we will spend the rest of our days together.”
“Oh, how beautiful your voice sounds to me, Oliver! As I walk along by your side I feel as if we were indeed beginning a new life.”
“By the way, we shall have a wedding soon. My daughter Amelia is to be married to-night, at ten o’clock—yes. And we shall be there on time, I see. The place is all aglow. I wonder—”
“Yes, and I wonder how I will be received.”
“You must be treated as my brother, and the family will do so. Music? Yes, Gertie, playing ‘Home, Sweet Home.’ There is no place like home. Oh, how true! We will surprise them. Just step in, Clarence.”
“Oh, papa, papa!”
“Yes, Gertie; I heard you playing just as I feel, that there is no place like home.”