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Rh letter, and I hope will forgive a father who feared to lose his boy entirely, so took this drastic course to keep him to himself. If it is opened by strangers, because of his death, I request that his mother's people in Boston be notified at once, and the inclosed package of papers be given, intact, into their hands.

Jimmy was pale and shaken when he looked up to meet John Pendleton's eyes.

"Am I—the lost—Jamie?" he faltered.

"That letter says you have documents there to prove it," nodded the other.

"Mrs. Carew's nephew?"

"Of course."

"But, why—what—I can't realize it!" There was a moment's pause before into Jimmy's face flashed a new joy. "Then, surely now I know who I am! I can tell— Mrs. Chilton something of my people."

"I should say you could," retorted John Pendleton, dryly. "The Boston Wetherbys can trace straight back to the crusades, and I don't know but to the year one. That ought to satisfy her. As for your father—he came of good stock, too, Mrs. Carew told me, though he was rather eccentric, and not pleasing to the family, as you know, of course."

"Yes. Poor dad! And what a life he must have lived with me all those years—always dreading pursuit. I can understand—lots of things, now, that used to puzzle me. A woman called me 'Jamie,' once.