in the flesh as well as in the spirit, she would
want to know how, why; and the explanation would involve her father. He
had not thought of that quite so plainly. But he could not now stop. He
must go on. He felt about for a way by which to approach the revelation
gradually.

"You have never had a brother, have you?" he asked.

"No."

"Would you like to have one?"

"I've always wanted a brother."

"How would I do for one?"

She looked at him curiously, then the sober face relaxed and she smiled.

"Oh, you'd make a fine one."

"You wouldn't object."

"I should think not."

"But, now, what would you think if I _was_ your real brother, if my name
was Chester Strong?"

"I'd think you were just joking a little."

"But I'm not joking, Lucy; I am in earnest. Take a good look at me, here
at this profile. Do I look like your father?"

She looked closely. "I believe you do," she said, still without a guess
at the truth. "Your forehead slopes just like his, and your nose has the
same bump on it. I never noticed that before."

"What might that mean, Lucy?"

"What might what mean?"

"That I look like your father."

He had turned his face to her now, but she still gazed at him, as if the
truth was just struggling for recognition. The smile vanished for an
instant from her face, and then returned. She would not entertain the
advance messenger.

"I don't object to your looking like my papa, for he's a mighty fine
looking man."

"Lucy, you saw what your father and I were doing last night?"

"Yes."

"What did you think--what do you now think of us?"

"Again, Chester, I don't object to you and father spooning a bit. In
fact, I think that's rather nice."

Chester laughed a little now, which loosened the tension considerably;
but he returned to the attack:

"Lucy, what would you think if your father had a son who had been lost
when a baby, and that now he should return to him as a grown man?"

"Well, I would think that would be jolly, as the English say."

"And that his son's name was Chester Lawrence?" he continued as if there
had been no interruption.

Now the cog in Lucy's mental make-up caught firmly into the machinery
that had been buzzing about her for some time.

"Are you my brother?" she asked.

"Yes; I am your brother."

"My real, live, long lost brother?"

"Yes."

"Now I see what you have been driving at all this time. You say you are
my brother, that my father is your father. Now expl