And by a little dexterous management on the part of those about him, this health-restoring sleep was made to extend for more than four-and-twenty hours. When the child roused up, a little food was given to him by Mrs. Pritchard, nothing that could excite him was spoken, no face that might perplex him showed itself, and he dropped back into slumber almost at once. But upon the evening of the day following the accident, Bertie woke up, his mind quite clear, and his brain alive with all sorts of new ideas and impressions. Mrs. Pritchard was sitting at work beside him. “Where is papa?” he asked. The good woman looked up at the sound of his voice and approached the bedside. She saw that the little boy’s eyes were open and that he looked calm and collected. “The Squire is at his dinner; do you want to see him?” “Yes, please,” answered Bertie whose eyes were very bright and shone with a strange sort of exultation. “I have something very particular I want to tell him.” The message did not take long to deliver to the Squire, and in a very few moments he was standing at the child’s bedside. “Papa,” said Bertie, taking one of the strong man’s hands in his and holding it tightly, “I am going to be always your little Bertie; but my real name is Ronald Damer, and my mother’s name is Winifred Damer, and we have a house in London, No. 10 Grantham Square. When grandpapa died we went away to France; but I think it is mother’s house still, and perhaps she is there now. If you write, I am sure she will get the letter. Somebody there will know where she is.” Bertie (as we must go on calling him now) said all this very distinctly, holding fast by the Squire’s hand and gazing up at him with very bright eyes. “What has made you remember all this, my child?” was the quiet question. “It was a dream,” answered Bertie, promptly. “Mother came and kissed me and called me her little Ronald, and then I remembered. Please do you think she could come soon if you telegraphed to her? She is such a dear, sweet mother, and she thinks she has no little boy left now.” He seemed inclined to grow excited again. The Squire laid a firm, cool hand upon his hot brow. “You must keep still and be patient, Bertie, and I will do what I can to bring your mother to you. Will you promise me to be very quiet and good whilst I go and see what I can do?” Bertie folded his hands together with an air of quiet determination. “I will try to be good, papa,” he answered, with a confiding smile. “Come back very soon and tell me what you have done.”