One by one she scanned his features, then the deacon’s, then Walter’s, and then, with a flash of intelligence in her bright eyes, turned to the latter for a confirmation of her suspicions. Walter understood her meaning, and with an answering nod, said softly: "By and by." "The dinner will be cold," suggested Mrs. Howland, and then the deacon rose, and leaning on his cane, walked into the adjoining room, when he took his seat at the head of the table. "There’s a chair for you," Jessie said to Walter who, following the natural laws of attraction, kept close to her side. "There’s one for _you_ and him, too, my old playhouse," and she pointed to the leathern chair. "Sit here, Captain Murdock,—here," said Walter, hurrying on as he saw Mrs. Howland giving the stranger another seat than that. "Walter," and there was reproach in the deacon’s voice, "not in your father’s chair." "Yes, grandpa," said Walter, "Captain Murdock has been a father to me,—let him sit there for once." So Captain Murdock sat there, his heart throbbing so loudly that Jessie, who was next to him, could hear it beat, and see his chin quiver, when the voice nearly eighty years old, was asking God’s blessing on their Thanksgiving Dinner; thanking God for returning their boy to them, and finishing the prayer with the touching petition: "Send the other back! oh, send the other back!" Owing to the presence of the captain, who was considered a stranger, not a word was spoken of Seth, until they arose from the table, when Walter, unable longer to keep still, said: "And so my father is free from all blame?" Involuntarily Jessie went up to him and put her arm in his, waiting breathlessly for what would follow next. "Yes, Walter," returned the deacon, "my Seth is innocent. Heaven bless him wherever he may be, and send him to me before I die, so I can hear him say he didn’t lay it up against me,—my hardening my heart and thinking he was guilty. Poor Seth, poor Seth! I’d give my life to blot out all the past and have him with me just as he was before he went away." Captain Murdock was standing with his face to the window, but, as the deacon ceased speaking, he turned, and going up to him, placed his hand on either shoulder and looked into his eyes. The movement was a most singular one, and to Mr. Graham, who knew that there must be a powerful motive for the action, there came a suspicion of the truth; but none to the old man, whose eyes fell beneath the burning gaze riveted upon him. "Who are you?" he asked in a bewildered tone, "why do you look at me so hard? He scares me; Walter, take him away." "Grandpa, don’t you know him?" and Walter drew near to them, but not until the old man’s ear had caught the whispered name of "_Father_." Then, with a scream of joy, he wound his feeble arms round the stranger’s neck.