“I would have told you all, sir, in time,” he said, earnestly. “I thought it better, for your sister’s sake, to wait. But, sir, he was my son.” They had been walking slowly along together; but now Jim stopped and faced the old man, in astonishment. “Your son!” he gasped. “Whom do you mean? Not Clinton Percival?” “Yes,” said the old man sadly. “He whom you knew as Clinton Percival was my misguided boy. Ah, sir, I am old now, and very, very weary, and for nearly ten years I have searched for my boy. He left me then,” he added, with sad simplicity; “but I have always loved him.” “But how did you know--how did you find him?” The old man folded his hands meekly in front of him. “I recognized the picture on your desk,” he said. “First I thought it was a picture of my boy; then I knew so strong a resemblance could not be accidental, and I made inquiries; and when your dispatch came I knew you had found him, and I came, too; but not in time,” he added sadly--“not in time!” “Have you told them? Do they know?” “Sir, I have told Mr. Morain. He alone knows aught of this. I wanted to see my boy for the last time. Now I shall go back.” “You shall not go back!” cried Jim in great excitement. “This is the strangest thing I ever heard of. You shall stay now until all is over. I shall say nothing of this until we return to New York, and you can go back when we do.” “But, sir,” said the old man anxiously, “are you not displeased with me?” Jim reassured him. “You did right to come, of course,” he said; “only you should have trusted me. And remember, if you have lost a son, you have found a grandson, and I hope you will care for him as you did for your son.” The old man’s eyes filled with tears. “You are kind, sir,” he said. “I have no tie on earth now but your little boy. You are kind to let me stay where I can see him. I thank you and bless you for it.” And he held his trembling hands over Jim’s head as he gave his benediction, and then turned meekly away; while Jim, in deep thought, returned to the hotel. The next was the day set for the funeral, and it surpassed anything of the kind ever seen in that place. All the mills were shut down, and most of the business places closed. The fronts of the buildings on the route of the funeral cortège were all draped in black, and, in fact, the whole town wore the appearance of deepest woe. There was some surprise expressed at the close carriage that followed the one containing the mourners, and some speculation as to the identity of that strange old man; but this was drowned in expectation; for a bishop had come to pronounce the eulogy, and all were anxious to hear his eloquent discourse. And it was eloquent; for the reverend gentleman spoke so feelingly of the departed, so lauded his good qualities, and set him forth as an example that all good men might follow, and then spoke of the bereaved widow with such tender sympathy, that nearly all were moved to tears.