Jerome looked at them. He wondered, dazedly, if he were really there and awake, or asleep and dreaming up-stairs in his bed. Elmira came close beside him and clutched his arm--even that did not clear his bewildered perceptions into certainty. It is always easier for the normal mind, when confronted by astonishing spectacles, to doubt its own accuracy rather than believe in them. "Do _you_ see him?" he whispered, sharply, to Elmira. "Yes; who is it? _Who_ is it?" Then Jerome, in his utter bewilderment, spoke out the secret which he had kept since childhood. "It can't be father," said he--"it can't be. I found his hat on the shore of the Dead Hole. Father drowned himself there." At the sound of his voice Ann turned around. "It's your father!" she cried out, sharply--"it's your father come home. Abel, here's the children." Jerome eyed a small japanned box, or trunk, on the floor, a stout stick, and a handkerchief parcel. He noted then clots of melting snow where the old man had trod. Somehow the sight of the snow did more to restore his faculties than anything else. "For Heaven's sake, let us go to work!" he cried to Elmira, "or he'll die. He's exhausted with tramping through the snow. Get some of that brandy in the cupboard, quick, while I start up the fire." "Is it father? Oh, Jerome, is it father?" "Mother says so. Get the brandy, quick." Jerome stirred the fire into a blaze, and put on the kettle, then he went to his mother and laid his hand on her shoulder. "Now, mother," he said, "he must be put into a warm bed." "Yes, put him into his own bed--his own bed!" shrieked his mother. "Oh, Abel, dear soul, come and sleep in your own bed again, after all these years! Poor man, poor man, you've got home to your own bed!" Jerome gave his mother's thin, vibrating shoulder a firm shake. "Mother," he said, "tell me--you must tell me--is this man father?" "Don't you know him? Don't you know your own father? Look at him." Ann threw back her head and pointed at the old worn face on her breast. Jerome stared at it. "Where--did he come--from?" he panted. "I don't know. He's come. Oh, Abel, Abel, you've come home!" "Give me some of that brandy, quick," Jerome called to Elmira, who stood trembling, holding the bottle and glass. He poured out some brandy, and, with a teaspoon, fed the old man, a few drops at a time. Presently he raised his head feebly, but it sank back. He tried to speak. "Don't try to talk," said Jerome; "wait till you're rested. Mother, let him alone now; sit down there. Elmira, you must try and help me a little." "If you've got to be helped, I'll help," cried Ann, fiercely. With that his mother, who had not walked since he could remember, ran into the bedroom, and began spreading the sheets smooth and shaking the pillows.