"About my lost boy? Quick! tell me if you have any news of him whom I must say you most closely resemble, and—"
"I do resemble your son, sir, and so much so that a gang of scoundrels were to use me as a foil to make money out of you."
"But you are not my boy? He would be about your age, and look like you, I think," and Mr. Rossmore was greatly excited.
"No, Mr. Rossmore, I am not your son; but I have come to tell you all I know of him, and I am sorry to say that you must give up all hope of ever seeing him alive."
"No! no! no! I cannot, I cannot!" and Mr. Rossmore listened to the whole story that Will had to tell, from his meeting with the man who had sent him on the errand, to his killing Night Hawk by the roadside.
"And, Mr. Rossmore," continued Will, "when I escaped from the den of the Land Sharks, I brought with me the clothes, which they said your boy had on when stolen, and his ring, and they were to bring them with me, to prove that I was your Willie.
"I will get them," and going out to the buggy he returned with his satchel, and the clothing and ring were exhibited.
"My poor, poor boy! these are indeed his little suit and ring; how well I remember them; but, my noble boy, I must see the grave that they say he was buried in on the prairie, before I give up all hope. If it contains the remains of a small child, I can but believe, and besides, Willie had his left arm broken when a baby, by falling from the lap of his nurse, and this will identify the bones as his.
"Oh, may heaven's anger fall on those who murdered my little boy!" and Mr. Rossmore bowed his head with grief, just as a lady, whose locks were prematurely grey from sorrow and suspense, came out upon the piazza.