That message from my father, whom I had never seen, made my heart heavy and again that lump gathered in my throat, for I could feel the heartaches that the writing of that note must have caused him. I had not the courage to break the seal of the bag and examine its contents. I pushed it aside and took from the box another time-yellowed envelope addressed to MY SON DONALD Inside I found the following: Dear Boy:— I cannot determine whether I am giving you a mean deal or whether this is all for your good. Your mother, Barbara Parker Mullen, is dead, God bless her! She has been dead now six months. It seems to me like eternity. I have tried to take care of you as she would have cared for you but I am afraid I have lost heart, and my courage, and I am afraid my faith has slipped from me. I fear that I am a broken-spirited failure. The passing of your mother has taken everything from me. I am no longer fit or able to care for you and I must pass you on to someone else and trust your welfare to God. For neither your mother nor I have any relatives left who are able to take care of you. What will become of you I cannot guess. I can only hope for the best. But by the time you are old enough to read and understand this message you will, I hope, have forgiven me or praised me for my effort to find you a home. What will become of me I do not know. I have one brother left in the world, Fay Mullen, and he is out in Piute Pass in the Rockies grubbing for gold. I am going out to join him for I know the only way I can forget my grief and get hold of myself once more is to bury myself in the wilderness. Fay has sent me a bag of double eagles to pay my expenses west. That is all the money I have in the world. I am not going to use it. I will work my way west and leave the gold for you. It is the least and probably the last that I can do for you. If, when you read this you have any desires to know who you really are, I will leave you the following information: Your mother, a wonderful woman, was Barbara Parker of Litchfield, Connecticut, daughter of Judge Arnold Parker of Litchfield, now deceased. I am Donald Mullen, the eldest of three brothers; Fay Mullen is the next of age and Patrick Mullen, the gunsmith of Maiden Lane, New York, is the youngest. We were born in Byron Bridge, Ireland, and we three came to this country after our parents died. You come of an honest, worthwhile people on my side, and of the best American blood on your mother’s, Donald, and I ask only that you live an honest, honorable life and have faith in your country and your God, and He will be with you to the end. Good-bye, boy. Lovingly, YOUR FATHER. I read the letter aloud but I confess that my voice broke toward the end and I choked up until reading was difficult.