ped it
about his neck--my baby Joel!"

The deacon snatched the object from her quivering hand. He stared
hard at it, as though he, too, might suspect he were asleep, and that
it was all but a vision of a disordered mind.

Hugh was trembling, he hardly knew why. Something seemed to rush
over him, something that thrilled him to the core. He had felt a
touch of the same sensation when the good old lady let him look at
the pictures in her family album, and pointed to one of her baby boy;
although at the time he could not fully grasp the idea that appealed
so dimly to his investigating mind.

Then Deacon Winslow found his voice, though it was thick and husky
when he went on to say hastily:

"Yes, it does look mighty like the one you had for the boy; and we
never found it again, you remember, after he--left home; so we
thought he had taken it along with everything else he owned. But
wait, wife, don't jump at conclusions. It is next to impossible that
this should be the tiny chain with the plain gold pendant that you
bought for our little Joel. Surely there must have been many others
like it made."

Apparently, he was sorely afraid lest the bitter disappointment would
follow. The blasting of those new, wild hopes of hers might have a
bad effect on the old lady. That was why the deacon tried to keep
her from being too sanguine, even though he himself was possibly
hugging suddenly awakened rapturous dreams to his heart.

"There may have been others, Joel!" she cried exultantly; "but look
on the back of the medallion. I feared it might be lost some day,
Joel, so I scratched his initials there. My glasses are too moist
for me to see well; look and tell me if you can make out anything,
husband!"

Even Hugh held his breath while the deacon turned the tiny medallion
over in his hands. Then he snatched up a reading glass of
considerable power from the table, and held it close to the object in
his quivering clutch.

They heard him give a cry, and it did not hint at disappointment.

"Oh! Joel, are the three letters there?" she begged piteously, as she
hugged the still calmly sleeping child closer and closer to her heart.

"Something I can see, wife, although it is very faint," he told her.
"But then think of the many years that have elapsed. The scratches
must have been very lightly done at best. Hugh, your eyes are
younger than mine; and, besides, I'm afraid there are tears dimming
my sight. Look, and tell u