“* * * So, my dear Mr. Damon, it was always on our friend’s mind that you should see his country. He had seen the world and he believed nothing in it was so beautiful and good as Iceland. And Rosestone is the beauty spot of that beautiful island. You know he has written you again and again to come here. ‘Ah!’ he said to me, his other friend, ‘I will bring him at last. Those Americans are all for business—for the making of money. It costs a great deal to live in America, and my friend, Damon, may need more than he has now before he dies.’ “So, Mr. Damon, he arranged it this way: His will was made and is proved in our courts. His chest of treasure is waiting for you. But you must come in person and get it. You are to visit his grave before you can have possession of the fortune Aman Dele intended you to have. It is my duty to see that his intentions are fulfilled. “I hope to see you within the year. I would like to get this responsibility off my mind, for I am an old man and my time may be near. Start at once for Iceland, and let me know when you expect to reach Rosestone. “Yours in the faith, “ERICK BRODAK, “Pastor Rosestone Mission.” CHAPTER III AMAN DELE “Now, bless my inmost thoughts! what do you think of that?” Mr. Damon demanded, and burst into another great laugh. “Isn’t it a fact that the very strangest things happen to me? I never imagined that day when I fed that starving Icelander that he was rich and would die and leave me a fortune. We were both young men then.” “Why,” said Mr. Swift, warmly, “this is wonderful, Damon! It surely is an instance of casting your bread on the waters and getting it back after many days.” “With interest!” chuckled the visitor. “For all I did was to feed Aman Dele and help him find himself——” “With your usual kindness,” broke in Tom, likewise with enthusiasm. “Tut, tut!” exclaimed Wakefield Damon, with a gesture of dismissal. “Let me tell you more about that Dele. We sat there in the coffee house and stared at each other and neither of us knew how to make the other understand what he wanted to say. But finally I got it in my head that the first thing was to find out where the fellow came from—what part of the world, you know.” “Quite true,” murmured Mr. Swift. “That was bright of you.” “Bless my brain-pan! I should say so,” cried Mr. Damon, with another laugh. “I grabbed him again and led him to the nearest library. He was more scared than ever, if possible. But I got out a big book of maps and we sat down to look them over. This at last made him know I was a friend. “Dele couldn’t read the names of the countries we looked at; but I knew by his shining eyes that he recognized the shape of some of them. He knew the British Isles. Then we turned the leaves to Sweden and Norway and he began to jabber that strange tongue of his. Then we hit little Denmark, and I was sure we were getting warm,” and once more Mr. Damon broke into laughter.