And that Toots was this missing son there was no doubt. His memory, a blank for many years, because of a bullet wound on the head, received in a fight with the Indians out west, had been restored to him. The surgeon explained it by saying that the blow from the stone, which exploded from the heat, had undone the injury caused by the bullet, by relieving the pressure of a certain bone on the brain. Such cases are rare, but not altogether unknown, he added, and persons who had forgotten for many years who they were suddenly recalled the past. Of course Toots, or, Corporal Handlee, as we must now call him, could not tell where he had been all the years that he was missing. The last he remembered was taking part in an Indian fight, and being wounded. When he recovered consciousness from the blow of the hot stone, he thought he was still at Fort Lamarie. He had forgotten all the intervening time, including several years spent at Kentfield. It was surmised that he must have wandered away after the Indian fight, recovered, though with his memory gone, taken another name, and then drifted about, until he secured a place at the military academy. That, the officers recalled, was five years ago. The corporal had not recognized his own photograph, though something in his hazy memory made him think he knew the man the picture represented. His own medal as a marksman he had supposed belong to another. "I must send Captain Handlee a telegram at once," said Dick, when the excitement had calmed down. "It will be great news for him." Leaving Corporal Handlee in charge of the surgeon, the old soldier being quite weak, and hardly able to understand all that had happened, Dick started for the telegraph office, which was not far from the school. He sent the message to the old captain, and, in getting out his money to pay for it, he put his hand in the pocket into which he had thrust the telegram the housekeeper had given him. "Guess I'd better read it," he murmured. "The fire and finding Corporal Handlee made me forget all about it." It was from his father, and was very short, but the news it contained made Dick throw his cap up into the air, and yell out in pure delight. "Wow!" he cried. "Wow! Wow! Wow!" The operator came running from his little office. "Got bad news?" he asked. "Bad?" repeated Dick "No, it's the best in the world! My dad's coming home!" "Seems to me you're making quite a fuss about it." "So would you if you knew what else he said," spoke Dick, as he rushed from the building. He found most of his chums grouped around the ruins of the society house. They were talking about the fire. "It's all my fault," Dutton was saying. "I guess I'll resign as treasurer." "I guess we won't have any society, if we can't have a meeting place," observed Hale, sorrowfully. "Say, Dutton, have you a fountain pen?" asked Dick, as he came up beside his former enemy. "I guess so. What do you want it for?" "I'll show you."