“Supposing I tell you what I am Lucy Temple’s son?” said Durward, to which Joel, not the least suspicious, replied, “Wall, s’posin’ you du, ’twon’t make it so.” “But I _am_, really and truly,” continued Durward. “Her first husband was a Bellmont, and I am Durward Bellmont, your fourth cousin, it seems.” “_Jehosiphat_! If this ain’t curis,” exclaimed Joel, grasping Durward’s hand. “How _do_ you du, and how is your marm. And do you know Helleny Rivers?” Durward’s brow darkened as he replied in the affirmative, while Joel continued: “We are from the same town, and used to think a sight of each other, but when I seen her in Kentucky, I thought she’d got to be mighty toppin’. Mebby, though, ’twas only my notion.” Durward did not answer, and after a little his companion said, “I suppose you know I sometimes take pictures for a livin’. I’m goin’ to my office now, and if you’ll come with me I’ll take yourn for nothin’, bein’ you’re related.” Mechanically, and because he had nothing else to do, Durward followed the young man to his “office,” which was a dingy, cheerless apartment in the fourth story of a crazy old building. On the table in the center of the room were several likenesses, which he carelessly examined. Coming at last to a larger and richer case, he opened it, but instantly it dropped from his hand, while an exclamation of surprise escaped his lips. “What’s the row, old feller,” asked Joel, coming forward and picking up the picture which Durward had recognized as ’Lena Rivers. “How came you by it?” said Durward eagerly, and with a knowing wink, Joel replied, “I know, and that’s enough.”