"Show her in."
A young woman came in, looked at me hard for a moment, laid a package on my desk and asked,
"Is this the Mr. Alexander who used to be an engineer?"
I confessed.
"I don't suppose you remember me," she asked.
I put on my glasses and looked at her. No, I never—then she put her handkerchief up to her lips covering the lower part of her face; it was the face of Madelene Hopkins.
"Yes," said I, "I remember you perfectly, seventeen or eighteen years ago you used to sit on my knee and call me 'Untle Tummy.' and I called you Maddie."
Then we laughed and shook hands.
"Mr. Alexander," said she, "In looking over some of father's papers, we came across a request that under certain conditions you were to be sent an old keepsake of his, a clock with mother's picture on it. I have brought it to you."
"And your father and mother, what of them, my friend?" I asked, for the promise of that clock "under certain conditions" was coming back to me.