"I'm sure of it," she replied. "They had a son Lambert, and there's an L for Lambert and a B for Boomphoffen, on the back; though to be sure there's an odd J too, but the meester can look for himself." So saying, she drew forth the watch. "L. J. B.!" cried Dr. Boekman springing toward her. Why attempt to describe the scene that followed! I need only say that the lad's message was delivered to his father at last--delivered while the great surgeon was sobbing like a little child. "Laurens! my Laurens?" he cried, gazing with yearning eyes at the watch as he held it tenderly in his palm. "Ah, if I had but known sooner! Laurens a homeless wanderer--Great Heaven! he may be suffering, dying at this moment! Think, man, where is he? Where did my boy say the letter must be sent?" Raff shook his head sadly. "Think!" implored the doctor. Surely the memory so lately awakened through his aid could not refuse to serve him in a moment like this. "It is all gone, mynheer," sighed Raff. Hans, forgetting distinctions of rank and station, forgetting everything but that his good friend was in trouble, threw his arms round the doctor's neck. "I can find your son, mynheer. If alive, he is _somewhere_. The earth is not so very large. I will devote every day of my life to the search. Mother can spare me, now. You are rich, mynheer; send me where you will." Gretel began to cry. It was right for Hans to go but how could they ever live without him? Dr. Boekman made no reply, neither did he push Hans away. His eyes were fixed anxiously upon Raff Brinker. Suddenly he lifted the watch, and with trembling eagerness attempted to open it. Its stiffened spring yielded at last; the case flew open, disclosing a watch-paper in the back bearing a group of blue forget-me-nots. Raff, seeing a shade of intense disappointment pass over the doctor's face, hastened to say: "There was something else in it, mynheer, but the young gentleman tore it out before he handed it to me. I saw him kiss it as he put it away." "It was his mother's picture," moaned the doctor; "she died when he was ten years old. Thank God! the boy had not forgotten. Both dead? It is impossible!" he cried, starting up. "My boy is alive. You shall hear his story. Laurens acted as my assistant. By mistake he portioned out the wrong medicine for one of my patients--a deadly poison--but it was never administered, for I discovered the error in time. The man died that day. I was detained with other bad cases until the next evening. When I reached home, my boy was gone. Poor Laurens!" sobbed the doctor, breaking down completely, "never to hear from me through all these years. His message disregarded. Oh, what must he have suffered!" Dame Brinker ventured to speak. Anything was better than to see the meester cry.