Mary had inherited something of her father's self-contained,
undemonstrative manner; but Ben had been impulsive and affectionate, and
had always been very near his mother's heart. To feel that he had passed
from her sight was a great sorrow; but it was a greater still not to
know where he was. He might be suffering pain or privation; he might
have fallen into bad and vicious habits for aught she knew. It would
have been a relief, though a sad one, to know that he was dead. But
nothing whatever had been heard of him since the letter of which the
reader is already aware.

Since Mary's marriage Mrs. Brandon had been very much alone. Her husband
was so taciturn and reserved that he was not much company for her; so
she was left very much to her own thoughts, and these dwelt often upon
Ben, though six years had elapsed since he left home.

"If I could see him once more," she often said to herself, "I could die
in peace."

So Mrs. Brandon was busily thinking of Ben on that Monday afternoon, as
she sat knitting before the fire; little thinking that God had heard her
prayer, and that the son whom she so longed to see was close at hand. He
was even then coming up the gravelled walk that led to the house.

It may be imagined that Ben's heart beat with unwonted excitement, as
the scenes of his early boyhood once more appeared before him. A
thousand boyish memories returned to him, as he trod the familiar
street. He met persons whom he knew, but they showed no recognition of
him. Six years had wrought too great a change in him.

He rang the bell.

The summons was answered by the servant, the only one employed in Mrs.
Brandon's modest establishment.

"Is Mrs. Brandon at home?" asked Ben.

"Yes," answered the girl. "Will you walk in?"

Ben stepped into the entry, and the girl opened the door of the room in
which Mrs. Brandon was seated.

Mrs. Brandon looked up.

She saw standing at the door a well-grown lad of sixteen, with a face
browned by long exposure to the sun and air. It was six years since she
had seen Ben; but in spite of the changes which time may have wrought, a
mother's heart is not easily deceived. A wild hope sprang up in her
heart. She tried to rise from her chair, but her excite was so great
that her limbs refused their office.

"Mother!" exclaimed Ben, and, hurrying forward he threw his arms around
his mother's neck.

"God be thanked!" she exclaimed, with heartfelt gratitude. "I have
missed you so muc