"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 a pause. "Where, Bert?" "I don't remember. Is it possible that I can remember so far back?" "It may be an accidental resemblance." "No, the face is like in every respect. Can't you explain it to me, mother?" "Think a little, Bert. Perhaps you will recall where you saw a face like this." "I have it now," said Bert, his face brightening up. "It is like Mr. Robinson--the friend of father, who called here a few weeks since." "Bert," said his mother slowly, "Mr. Robinson was not your father's friend. It was your father himself." Bert looked the picture of astonishment. "Why did you not tell me, mother?" "How could I? You did not even know that he was alive. Ever since then I have been seeking an opportunity to tell you the truth." "I am glad to know. What did father have to say?" "He thinks he has found out--at any rate he has strong suspicions--who was the real thief for whom he suffered." "Who is it, mother? Is it any one I ever knew?" "Yes, Bert." "Tell me quick." "Then you must promise to keep it secret till we are in a condition to prove the truth of our suspicions. It was Albert Marlowe." "The squire?" "Yes." "That must explain his being able to go into business for himself." "Yes. Your father is on the track of a man who was his accomplice, or rather his tool, in the matter--the young man named Harding, on whose information your father was arrested. Of course he is placed under a disadvantage in making these inquiries, being under the ban of the law."