“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 he must have suffered!” Dame Brinker ventured to speak. Anything was better than to see the meester cry. “It is a mercy to know the young gentleman was innocent. Ah, how he fretted! Telling you, Raff, that his crime was like unto murder. It was sending the wrong physic that he meant. Crime indeed! Why, our own Gretel might have done that! Like enough the poor young gentleman heard that the man was dead--that’s why he ran, mynheer. He said, you know, Raff, that he never could come back to Holland again, unless”--she hesitated--“ah, your honor, ten years is a dreary time to be waiting to hear from--” “Hist, vrouw!” said Raff sharply. “Waiting to hear”--the doctor groaned--“and I, like a fool, sitting stubbornly at home, thinking that he had abandoned me. I never dreamed, Brinker, that the boy had discovered the mistake. I believed it was youthful folly, ingratitude, love of adventure, that sent him away. My poor, poor Laurens!” “But you know all, now, mynheer,” whispered Hans. “You know he was innocent of wrong, that he loved you and his dead mother. We will find him. You shall see him again, dear meester.” “God bless you!” said Dr. Boekman, seizing the boy’s hand. “It may be as you say. I shall try--I shall try--and, Brinker, if ever the faintest gleam of recollection concerning him should come to you, you will send me word at once?” “Indeed we will!” cried all but Hans, whose silent promise would have satisfied the doctor even had the others not spoken. “Your boy’s eyes,” he said, turning to Dame Brinker, “are strangely like my son’s. The first time I met him it seemed that Laurens himself was looking at me.” “Aye, mynheer,” replied the mother proudly. “I have marked that you were much drawn to the child.” For a few moments the meester seemed lost in thought, then, arousing himself, he spoke in a new voice. “Forgive me, Raff Brinker, for this tumult. Do not feel distressed on my account. I leave your house today a happier man than I have been for many a long year. Shall I take the watch?” “Certainly, you must, mynheer. It was your son’s wish.”