s what you see!"

It was a picture, with those two old people so eagerly hanging on the
decision of the clear-eyed youth. Hugh used the glass, for he wanted
to make certain. It would be doubly cruel if by any mistake on his
part those anxious hearts were deceived.

"I can plainly make out the first initial, which is J beyond
question," he almost immediately said.

At hearing that the deacon cast a swift look toward his wife, which
she returned in kind. Neither of them could find utterance for a
single word, however, such was the mental strain under which they
labored.

"The last letter looks like a W," continued Hugh. "Yes, now that
I've rubbed it with my finger I am positive of that. As for the
middle one, I think it must be either an O or a C, though it's rather
hard to say."

Deacon Winslow gave a deep sigh.

"And our boy's middle name was Carstairs, named after his mother's
family!" he hastened to say.

Then they exchanged more wondering looks. It was very like a
miracle, the bringing of the little child into the home of that
couple whose fireside had so long awaited the coming of such a
sunbeam.

Deacon Winslow turned almost fiercely on Hugh, and gripped his sleeve.

"You must tell us more about the boy," he said. "Who is he, and
where did he come from? Those are vital things for us to learn. We
could never know peace again if this mystery were not made clear. So
tell us, Hugh, tell us as quickly as you can, so that we may learn
the best, or the worst."

He saw that they were strangely shaken, and Hugh wisely believed it
best to reassure them in the very beginning.

"First of all, sir," he started to say, "I begin to believe it may be
what you would wish most of all. This boy who so much resembles your
own child of the past is likely to turn out his son or perhaps
grandson, for his mother's name is Walters, we've learned. You ask
me where I found him, and I meant to tell you later on, never
dreaming that it would interest you more than casually. I picked him
and his mother up Thursday evening just at dusk, when I was coming
home from a farm in a sleigh, where I had been to get a sack of
potatoes. The young woman was trying to ask me something when she
swooned away."

"Go on, lad, go on!" pleaded the deacon hoarsely, as Hugh paused for
breath.

"Of course, the only thing I could do was to get them into the sleigh
and whip up the horse," Hugh continued. "Once I reached home my
mothe