unds to get out of the country. Now you
know why he has remained absent all these years."

"But why was I never told of this, mother? Why did I not know at the
time?"

"You were only six years of age, and were sent away during the
excitement to the house of a friend living at some distance. I moved
away from the town in which my misfortunes were known, and eventually
came here, learning that Albert Marlowe had established himself in
business here. You readily believed that your father was dead."

"I understand now, mother. But is it not terrible that the happiness of
a family should be broken up in this way?"

"Yes, Bert. Providence permits it for some wise purpose, no doubt,
though it is hard for us to understand why it should be."

"One thing I don't understand, mother. You say that Squire Marlowe was a
common workman, like my father, and a poor man?"

"Yes, Bert."

"How is it that he is now a rich manufacturer? Where did he get the
necessary capital?"

"Nobody knew. He took all his friends by surprise when he went into
business for himself on a large scale. Whatever the amount of his
capital, he has never been financially embarrassed, and has gone on
prospering."

"Till now he is a rich man, living in luxury, while we are living from
hand to mouth, and poor father is an exile somewhere."

"Yes, Bert."

"Don't you receive letters from father?"

"If I should, it would draw attention to him, and might imperil his
safety."

"I might meet him sometime, and not know him."

"Have you no recollection of him?"

"Not the least? Haven't you any picture of him, mother?"

"Yes, I have a daguerreotype upstairs--an old-style picture."

"Why have you never shown it to me?"

"Because it would have led you to ask questions which would have been
embarrassing for me to answer. You might have mentioned the existence of
the picture before some visitor, and compelled me to produce it. Suppose
this had been the case, and it had been recognized, it might have got
your father into trouble."

"Now that I know all the circumstances, won't you show me the picture,
mother?"

"Yes, Bert; the only objection I had is now removed."

Mrs. Barton went upstairs, and soon returned with one of those
old-fashioned pictures of which many of my readers may have specimens
in their homes--a daguerreotype.

Bert scanned it attentively, and he first looked bewildered, then
surprised.

"I have seen a face like that," he said after