The old man gave a cry, and would have fallen from his chair, but the stranger sprung forward and caught him in his arms. There was a moment's silence, broken only by a deep groan from the old man, and a low murmur from his lips, "Yes! I knew it--he is dead!" "No, no! he is not dead!" cried the stranger; "he lives--he recovered!" "Where is he, then? Where is my Sam? Let me know!" cried the old man, recovering and standing wildly up--"I must see him!--I must to him!" "Father! father! it is Sam!" cried his son Joe; "I know him!--I know him!--this is he!" "Where?--who?" exclaimed the father, looking round bewildered. "Here!" said the stranger, kneeling before the old man, and clasping his hand and bathing it with tears. "Here, father, is your lost and unworthy son. Father!--I return like the Prodigal Son. 'I have sinned before Heaven and in thy sight; make me as one of thy hired servants.'" The old man clasped his son in his arms, and they wept in silence. But Joe was impatient to embrace his recovered brother, and he gave him a hug as vigorous as one of those grisly bears that Sam had mentioned. "Ah! Sam!" he said, "how I have wanted thee; but I always saw thee a slim chap, such as thou went away, and now thou art twice as big, and twice as old, and yet I knew thee by thy eyes." The two brothers cordially embraced, and the returned wanderer also embraced his comely sister affectionately, and said, "You had nearly found me out in the garden." "Ah, what a startle you gave me!" she replied, wiping away her tears; "but this is so unexpected--so heavenly." She ran off, and returning with the whole troop of her children, said, "There, there is your dear, lost uncle!" The uncle caught them up, one after another, and kissed them rapturously. "Do you know," said the mother, laying her hand on the head of the eldest boy, a fine, rosy-looking fellow, "what name this has? It is Samuel Warilow! We did not forget the one that was away." "He will find another Samuel in America," said his uncle, again snatching him up, "and a Joe, and a Thomas, the grandfather's name. My blessed mother there lives again in a lovely blue-eyed girl; and should God send me another daughter, there shall be a Millicent, too!" Meantime, the old man stood gazing insatiably on his son. "Ah, Sam!" said he, as his son again turned, and took his hand, "I was very hard to thee, and yet thou hast been hard to us, too. Thou art married, too, and, with all our names grafted on new stems, thou never wrote to us. It was not well." "No, father, it was not well. I acknowledge my fault--my great fault; but let me justify myself. I never forgot you; but for many years I was a wanderer, and an unsuccessful man. My pride would not let me send, under these circumstances, to those who had always said that I should come to beggary and shame. Excuse me, that I mention these hard words. My pride was always great; and those words haunted me.