"No, that could not be," said the stranger, startled by the old man's emotion; "it was not this place—it was—I remember it—it was another name—Well—Well—Welland was the place."
The old man gave a cry, and would have fallen from his chair, but the stranger sprung forward and caught him in his arms. There was a moment's silence, broken only by a deep groan from the old man, and a low murmur from his lips, "Yes! I knew it—he is dead!"
"No, no! he is not dead!" cried the stranger; "he lives—he recovered!"
"Where is he, then? Where is my Sam? Let me know!" cried the old man, recovering and standing wildly up—"I must see him!—I must to him!"
"Father! father! it is Sam!" cried his son Joe; "I know him!—I know him!—this is he!"
"Where?—who?" exclaimed the father, looking round bewildered.
"Here!" said the stranger, kneeling before the old man, and clasping his hand and bathing it with tears. "Here, father, is your lost and unworthy son. Father!—I return like the Prodigal Son. 'I have sinned before Heaven and in thy sight; make me as one of thy hired servants.'"
The old man clasped his son in his arms, and they wept in silence.
But Joe was impatient to embrace his recovered brother, and he gave him a hug as vigorous as one of those grisly bears that Sam had mentioned. "Ah! Sam!" he said, "how I have wanted thee; but I always saw thee a slim chap, such as thou went away, and now thou art twice as big, and twice as old, and yet I knew thee by thy eyes."
The two brothers cordially embraced, and the returned wanderer also embraced his comely sister affectionately, and said, "You had nearly found me out in the garden."