Just as the argument was at its height the outer door of the inn opened and a boy, wild-eyed, but handsome, entered. A glance at the strangely wild eyes and disheveled hair convinced all present that he was insane. He was about twelve years of age, with a slender figure and a well-shaped head, but some great shock had unseated his reason. His mania was of a mild, harmless type. Walking directly up to Mr. Tompkins, he said: "Have you seen my father? You look very much like my father, but I know he has not yet come into Egypt." The voice was so plaintive and sad that it touched at once the hearts of all, and happily put an end to the conversation. "Who is your father?" asked Mr. Tompkins. "Jacob is my father. I am his favorite son. My brothers sold me a slave into Egypt, and told my father I had been slain by wild beasts. Have you seen my father?" "He is crazy. Humor him, say something to him," whispered the landlord. "Your father is not yet ready to come into Egypt," said Mr. Tompkins. "And my brother Benjamin--did you see him?" the lad asked. "Yes." "Is the famine sore in the land where my father dwells?" "Yes." "And does he suffer--is he old? Oh, yes, I remember; my father must be dead." He seated himself on a low stool by the fireside, and, bowing his head in his hands, seemed lost in thought. "He does that twenty times a day," said the landlord. "Who is he?" asked one of the travelers, "and where does he come from?" "He has been here only a few days, and I know nothing about him. His first question was, 'Have you seen my father Jacob?'" "Have you tried to find out about him?" asked Mr. Tompkins. "Yes, but to no purpose," answered Uncle Jerry. "He came one morning and said he was fleeing from Potiphar's wrath. After inquiring for his father, he remained silent for some time. I tried to find where he came from, but no one knows and he can not tell. I should judge by the clothes he wore that he was from the South, and, from the worn condition of his shoes, that he came a great way. He is of some respectable family, for he has been well educated, and I fancy it's too much book learning that has turned the boy's head. He talks of Plato and Socrates and Aristotle, and all the ancient philosophers, and his familiarity with historical events shows him to have been a student; but he always imagines that he is Joseph." "Where does he live?" asked Mr. Tompkins. "Oh, he stays here at the inn, and shows no disposition to leave. He makes himself useful by helping the stable-boy and carries in fuel, imagining himself a servant of the high priest." "Has he lucid intervals?" asked Mr. Tompkins.