"Wha—what was your little son's name?" she faltered, hardly able to go on.
"Jack."
"By golly, he must be our Jack's fadder!" burst out Old Ben. "Now don't dat beat de nation!"
"Jack! No! no! You—you cannot be our Jack's father!" cried Mrs. Ruthven.
"I understand you are very much attached to the boy," went on Dr. Mackey smoothly. "It is a pity. Yes, he is truly my son."
The tears came into Mrs. Ruthven's eyes, but she hastily brushed them away. "Jack does not look much like you," she declared.
"That is true, but he bears a strong resemblance to my dead brother Walter, and that is what made me certain he is my son. I saw him in town a day or two ago, although he did not see me."
"This is very strange." The lady hardly knew how to go on. The thought that she might have to give up Jack was a bitter one. "Have you spoken to Jack yet?"
"No. Isn't he here?"
"No, he went for a boat race, against his cousin, St. John Ruthven—I mean my nephew," she stammered.