ney Gibbs!" shouted the Brimfield
boys, wild with the excitement of welcoming home two such heroes as the
young explorers were in their eyes. The very first to grasp Glen's hand
was the Indian lad, and he said in good English, though with a Cheyenne
accent, "How Glen! Lem Wolf is very glad. Lem Wolf is short-stop now. He
can play ball."

Binney Gibbs disappeared in his father's carriage; but Glen walked from
the station with his adopted father, and everybody wanted to shake hands
with him, and ask him questions, and throng about him, so that it seemed
as though they never would reach home.

It was a happy home-coming, and Glen was touched by the interest and the
kindly feeling manifested towards him; but how he did long to reach the
house, and be alone for a minute with Mr. Matherson. There was one
question that he was so eager, and yet almost afraid, to ask. Had his
own father been discovered? But he could not ask it before all those
people, nor did he have an opportunity for a full hour after they
reached the house. Some of the neighbors were there, and they had to
have supper, and everything seemed to interfere to postpone that quiet
talk for which he was so anxious.

At length he could wait no longer, and, almost dragging Mr. Matherson
into the little front parlor, he closed the door and said breathlessly,
"Now tell me, father; tell me quick! Is he alive? Have you found him?"

"Yes, my boy, he is alive, or was a few months ago, and I think we can
find him. In fact, I believe you know him very well, and could tell me
where to find him better than I can tell you."

"What do you mean?" cried Glen. "Oh, tell me quick! What is his name?"

There was so much confusion outside that they did not notice the opening
of the front gate, nor the strange step on the walk. As Mr. Matherson
was about to reply to the boy's eager question, the parlor door opened,
and one of the children entered, with a card in her hand, saying,
"Somebody wants to see you, papa."

As Mr. Matherson glanced at the card he sprang to his feet, trembling
with excitement.

"Gerald Elting!" he cried. "Why, Glen, that is the name of your own
father!"

"And here is his own father, eager to claim his son," came from the open
doorway, in the manly tones that Glen had long since learned to love.

The next moment the man's arms were about the boy's neck, as, in a voice
trembling with long-suppressed emotion, he cried,

"Oh, my son, my son! Have I found