"Can you recall his name?"
"Mother used to call him Uncle Stephen; but he was not her relation—he was father's. I think he always scolded mother; she used to look dreadfully bad after he was gone. I don't want to see him again."
"But he may have had a kind heart."
"Oh, I don't know," said Ronald. "I don't want to see him again."
"Do you think, by chance, that his name was Harvey?"
"I don't know. I think he in a sort of way belonged to father."
"Then," said Mrs. Anderson, "I guess that his name was Harvey. Now, I won't question you any more, Ronald. You may sit up and play with your bricks."
Ronald played happily enough, and Mrs. Anderson, after thinking for a few minutes, wrote out an advertisement. The advertisement ran as follows:
"If a gentleman who was called Uncle Stephen by a little boy, son of the late Major Harvey, who was supposed to have been killed in action at Ladysmith on ——, would wish to know anything of the same boy, he can get full particulars from Mrs. Anderson, 12 Carlyle Terrace, Westminster."
This advertisement was put into the Times, the Standard, the Telegraph, and in fact, into all the daily newspapers. It appeared once, and Mrs. Anderson sat—as she expressed it—with her heart in her mouth for a whole day. But nothing happened: nobody came to inquire; there was no letter on the subject of the little son of brave Major Harvey. On the second day of the advertisement Mrs. Anderson felt a great relief in her heart.