re collected--old men who
had searched for the lost boy--aged mothers who had held him in their
arms--young men who had heard the story narrated by their parents. But
the couple stopped five miles north of Carey, at Adrian Station, and
at once started for William Brayton's house.

Here the family were gathered. The old man, seventy-three years of
age, but still hale and vigorous--the brothers and sisters. When the
eldest brother entered with his charge the intense feeling that
prevailed the hearts of all in the room can scarcely be
imagined--cannot be described. The aged father arose, placed his
trembling hand on the head of the stranger, and searched for the scar,
which he could scarcely distinguish through the mist that filled his
eyes. Then he knelt to examine the foot. For a moment every breath was
hushed, and the hearts of the other relatives almost ceased to beat.
Then the old man tottered to his feet, and with a gush of tears--the
stream of affection that had been pent up for the third of a
century--fell on the neck of his son--Matthew Brayton! It is useless
to attempt a description of the scene that followed. The father that
had so long secretly mourned for his child, the household pet; the
brother who never forgot that it was from his company that the little
boy had passed away to a mysterious fate; the other brother who had
been his playmate; the sisters who had fondled their little brother in
infancy--all were gathered to share in that happy meeting. There was
one absent whose presence was needed to make the cup of joy full to
overflowing, but her motherly heart might perhaps even then be
rejoicing in Heaven for the happiness on earth.

The news of the return spread like wildfire. The return was on
Thursday the 17th of November. For days afterwards the house was
besieged by anxious people eager to see the "boy" so long lost, and so
strangely found. Old men who had shared with zeal in that weary and
hopeless search thirty-four years ago, came up, and all who had known
him as a little boy, acknowledged the identity.

At present Matthew Brayton, the hero of these strange adventures, is
residing with his father and brothers, and has become somewhat
reconciled to civilized life. He has abandoned his design of returning
to the Indians, and is endeavoring to fit himself for the different
lot now assigned him. He has attended school as frequently as the
state of his eyes permitted, and can now read a little, as we