He had known for some time that the partners were on the watch for the thief. He had heard them talking about the matter; but he supposed he had managed the case so well as to exonerate himself and implicate Harry, whom he hated for being a good boy. Harry was discharged. His heart swelled with gratitude for the kindly interposition of Providence. The trial was past--the triumph had come. Mr. Wake, Mr. Wade, and other friends, congratulated him on the happy termination of the affair; and while they were so engaged the elderly man elbowed his way through the crowd to the place where Harry stood. "Young man, what is your father's name?" he asked, in tones tremulous with emotion. "I have no father," replied Harry. "You had a father--what was his name?" "Franklin West; a carpenter by trade. He went from Redfield to Valparaiso when I was very young, and we never heard anything from him." "My son!" exclaimed the stranger, grasping our hero by the hand, while the tears rolled down his brown visage. Harry did not know what to make of this announcement. "Is it possible that you are my father?" asked he. "I am, Harry; but I was sure you were dead. I got a letter, informing me that your mother and the baby had gone; and about a year after I met a man from Rockville who told me that you had died also." "It was a mistake." They continued the conversation as they walked from the court room to the store. There was a long story for each to tell. Mr. West confessed that, for two years after his arrival at Valparaiso, he had accomplished very little. He drank hard, and brought on a fever, which had nearly carried him off. But that fever was a blessing in disguise; and since his recovery he had been entirely temperate. He had nothing to send to his family, and shame prevented him from even writing to his wife. He received the letter which conveyed the intelligence of the death of his wife and child, and soon after learned that his remaining little one was also gone. Carpenters were then in great demand in Valparaiso. He was soon in a condition to take contracts, and fortune smiled upon him. He had rendered himself independent, and had now returned to spend his remaining days in his native land. He had been in Boston a week, and happened to stray into the Police Court, where he had found the son who, he supposed, had long ago been laid in the grave. Edward Flint finished his career of "fashionable dissipation" by being sentenced to the house of correction. Just before he was sent over, he confessed to Mr. Wade that it was he who had stolen Harry's money, three years before. The next day Harry obtained leave of absence, for the purpose of accompanying his father on a visit to Redfield. He was in exuberant spirits. It seemed as though his cup of joy was full. He could hardly realize that he had a father--a kind, affectionate father--who shared the joy of his heart.