Joe entered the cabin and sat down, and William Bodley plied him with questions, all of which he answered to the best of his ability.
“There was a blue tin box I had,” said he, presently, “that contained some documents that were mine.”
“A blue tin box!” ejaculated Joe. “Hiram Bodley had it and it got lost. I found it a long time afterwards and some parts of the documents were destroyed. I have the rest in my suit case at the hotel.”
“Can I see those papers?”
“Certainly.”
“Perhaps you are my son, Joe?”
“Perhaps I am, sir.”
They went to the hotel, and the documents were produced. Then William Bodley brought out some letters he possessed. Man and boy went over everything with care.
“You must be my son!” cried William Bodley. “Thank heaven you are found!” And they shook hands warmly.
He told Joe to move over to the cabin, and our hero did so. It was a neat and clean place and soon Joe felt at home. Then he heard his father's tale in detail—an odd and wonderful story—of great trials and hardship.