"Well, the story is this: My brother in his younger days before he was married, had an unfortunate experience with a young woman. There was a child as the result. The woman, as nearly as I can make out, married well enough, and later, joined the Mormons and went to Utah. She did not take the child with her, for some reason unknown to me, at least; and so the boy--for it was a boy--became lost to his father, and as far as I know, to his mother also. I don't suppose all this worried my brother as a young man; but recently, within the past few years, I should say, his conscience seems to have pricked him severely. He has some vigorous views of fatherhood and the obligations flowing therefrom--and I can't say but he is right--and now he worries about his own great neglect. He has talked to me about it, so I know. Sometimes he worries himself sick, and then his nervous trouble gets the overhand." Chester lay on the grass looking up into the sky, complacently chewing a spear of grass, while Uncle Gilbert was talking. "What was the woman's name?" asked Chester. "I can't recall it just now. In fact, I don't think I ever heard it. Now, another thing that you must know, and you must not be annoyed at this: at times, I believe he imagines you to be that boy of his." Chester sat up, and exactly at the moment when he looked into the face of Uncle Gilbert a cog in the machinery of his own thoughts caught into a cog of the wheel within wheels which the man at his side had been revealing. The cog caught, then slipped, then caught again. Wheels began to revolve, bringing into motion and view other possible developments. "That's only when his illness makes him delerious," continued Uncle Gilbert. "As I said, you must pay no attention to him under those conditions, but I thought you ought to know." "Yes; yes," whispered the young man--"Thank you." For him, Hyde Park and London had disappeared: all earthly things had become mist out of which he was trying to emerge. "You don't know the woman's name," Chester asked again, with dry lips--"Tell me her name." "I don't remember. I'm not sure, but I believe I have heard my brother, in his times of delerium speak of Anna." "Anna. Anna," repeated Chester, as he stared into space. Uncle Gilbert looked at the young man, and then repented of telling him. He was a little annoyed at his manner. He arose, brushed the grass from his clothes, and said: "Well, let's be going." Chester went along mechanically. At the Marble Arch Uncle Gilbert was about to hail a bus, when Chester stopped him. "You'll excuse me, wont you for not returning with you--I--I--" "But I gave my word to Lucy that I would bring you back." "Yes; I know, I'll come after a while--but not now--you go on,--I--I--there's your bus now; you had better take it." Uncle Gilbert, still a little annoyed, climbed on the bus and left his companion looking vacantly at the line of moving busses.