"Richard Hunter.
"How can I thank you! I take the next train for New York.
"Hiram Bates."
On the afternoon succeeding, Mr. Bates entered Richard's counting-room. He clasped his hand with fervor.
"Mr. Hunter," he said, "I do not know how to thank you. Where is my boy?"
"I am just going up to the house," said Richard. "If you will accompany me, you shall soon see him."
"I am impatient to hear all the particulars," said Mr. Bates. "Remember, I know nothing as yet. I only received your telegram announcing his discovery. When did you find him?"
"That is the strangest part of it," said Richard. "I found him sick just outside the office door several weeks since. I took him home, and when he recovered let him get a place in a bookstore; but, having become interested in him, I was unwilling to lose sight of him, and still kept him with me. All this while I was searching for your grandson, and had not the least idea that he was already found."
"How did you discover this at last?"
"By his recognition of his mother's photograph. It was lucky you thought of leaving it with me."
"Is his name John?"