“When Dr. Raymond heard the story and saw you, for you were the baby, he got me on the telephone and told me all about you. And that night he brought you here, and you were such a chubby, bright, interesting little fellow that mother and I fell in love with you immediately and decided to adopt you, which we did according to law. So you are our legal child, Don, and all that, although we are not your real parents.” Somehow that made me feel a little happier. Dad and mother did have a claim on me at least. That was something. “It was not until after Dr. Raymond had left,” went on father, “that mother and I examined the box and papers that had come with you. Here they are.” Dad took up a worn and age-yellowed envelope addressed in a bold hand: To the Finder Inside was the following brief message: TO THE FINDER:— The mother of this child, Donald Mullen, is dead. I, his father, cannot give him the care he should have. Will you, the finder, adopt him, care for him, and bring him up to be an honest, trustworthy man, and win the eternal gratitude of his dead mother and DONALD MULLEN, his father. “Then my name is—or was Mullen,” I exclaimed. “According to that,” said dad softly, “but when you became our son we kept your first name and discarded the family name of course.” “But—but what has become of my father, Donald Mullen?” I asked. “My boy, we have tried both for your sake and for our own to find out. We have followed up and searched every possible clue and—but wait, here are other papers of interest and after you have read them I will tell you all we have done to locate your real father and afterwards we will talk the whole situation over.” As dad was speaking he passed over the battered tin box. On the lid was inscribed the simple lines— The contents of this box belong to the boy. If you are honest you will see that it comes into his hands at the proper time. If you are dishonest, then God help the boy and God help you! D. MULLEN. It was some time before I could make up my mind to force the lid. When I did the first thing that my eyes fell upon was this buckskin bag of unmistakable Indian design, beautifully decorated with bead work and highly colored porcupine quills cunningly worked into a good luck design. As I picked up the bag I saw that it was sealed with wax and to it was attached a card on which was penned: To my son:— Here is all the wealth I possess. It isn’t much. The bag with its contents was sent to me by my brother, Fay, who is out in the Rockies. He gave it to me to pay my expenses out there to join him. I am leaving it for you. It may help you over some rocky places if it ever gets into your hands, and I trust the good Lord that it does. Lovingly, YOUR FATHER. The bag gave forth the unmistakable clink of gold coins as I dropped it on the table.