“Papa, mamma, I’ve had an adventure! An elderly gentleman rushed up to me, holding out his hand in the most cordial manner and looking as pleased as if he had just come upon his best friend after a long separation. ‘Why, Floy, my dear child, I am delighted to see you!’ he said, but I of course drew back and told him as politely as I could that he had made a mistake; that was not my name, and I was quite sure we had never met before. Then he grew very red in the face, and stammered out an apology. He had taken me for a young lady he used to know very well indeed, but hadn’t seen for two or three years; hoped I would excuse him, but really the resemblance was wonderful.” “A mere pretence, you may depend!” cried her brother angrily. “And, Dora, you are not to go alone into a crowd again; you are quite too young and pretty.” But the mother appeared strangely agitated. “Oh, my child, where is he?” she cried, trembling and turning pale. “Oh, if I had but seen him! Which way did he go? could you point him out to your father or me?” “I think I should recognize him if I met him again,” the girl answered in surprise, “but I do not at all know where he went. But why, mamma, why should you wish to see him?” The mother did not answer, did not seem to have heard the question. She was leaning heavily upon her husband’s arm for support, while he bent over her with low-breathed words of comfort and hope. “Dear wife, bear up! What is this but another gleam of light for you?” “Hush, Dora,” whispered the lad, drawing his sister aside. “Can you not guess? have you forgotten our mother’s quest--her life-long sorrow?” “Oh, Ellis! to be sure! How could I be so stupid! Oh, why didn’t I think to detain and question the man? But, Ellis, it wasn’t the right name.” “No; but what is easier than to change a name?” “Yes, yes, that is true! Poor mamma! poor dear mamma! She will never rest; she cannot, till she finds her or knows that she is no more.” “She has such a loving mother-heart,” said Ellis, “and she _will_ blame herself, though I’m sure she has no reason.” “What are you talking about?” asked little Nan, coming skipping back from an erratic excursion into one of the side paths. “Oh, Dora! did you get me that necklace?” “Yes, little puss, I have it safe here in my bag.” “Let me carry that; I did not notice that you had it,” Ellis said, taking the satchel. He was invariably as politely attentive to his mother and sisters as to any other ladies. The parents were moving slowly forward, the mother having recovered her accustomed calm, quiet manner, and the young people had fallen slightly into the rear. Another moment, and they were all passing up the broad marble steps leading into Memorial Hall. They had hardly disappeared within the portal, when Espy and Ethel might have been seen traversing the avenue in the same direction.