she'll come I'll do my best to make her happy while she
lives. I heard about five years ago from a man who worked for a short
time in Farguson's ship-yard how she was suffering, and what names the
people called the child, and my one thought ever since has been to do
the decent thing by both. I couldn't then, for I was living in a hut
back in the mountains a thousand miles from the coast, or tramping from
place to place; so I kept still. He told me, too, how you felt toward
me, and I didn't want to come and have bad blood between us, and so I
stayed on. When Olssen Strom, my foreman, sailed for Perth Amboy, where
they are making some machinery for the company, I thought I'd try
again, so I sent him to find out. One thing in your letter is wrong. I
never went to the hospital with yellow fever; some of the men had it
aboard ship, and I took one of them to the ward the night I ran away.
The doctor at the hospital wanted my name, and I gave it, and this may
have been how they thought it was me, but I did not intend to deceive
you or anybody else, nor cover up any tracks. Yes, father, I'm coming
home. If you'll hold out your hand to me I'll take it gladly. I've had
a hard time since I left you; you'd forgive me if you knew how hard it
has been. I haven't had anybody out here to care whether I lived or
died, and I would like to see how it feels. But if you don't I can't
help it. My hope is that Lucy and the boy will feel differently. There
is a steamer sailing from here next Wednesday; she goes direct to
Amboy, and you may expect me on her. Your son,

"Barton."

"It's him, Tod," cried the captain, shaking the letter over his head;
"it's him!" The tears stood in his eyes now, his voice trembled; his
iron nerve was giving way. "Alive, and comin' home! Be here next week!
Keep the door shut, boy, till I pull myself together. Oh, my God, Tod,
think of it! I haven't had a day's peace since I druv him out nigh on
to twenty year ago. He hurt me here"--and he pointed to his
breast--"where I couldn't forgive him. But it's all over now. He's come
to himself like a man, and he's square and honest, and he's goin' to
stay home till everything is straightened out. O God! it can't be true!
it CAN'T be true!"

He was sobbing now, his face hidden by his wrist and the cuff of his
coat, the big tears striking his pea-jacket and bounding off. It had
been many years since these springs had yielded a drop--not when
anybody could see. They must