waited the agents return with what of patience I could
command; and, at last, one day, when I was least expecting him, I was
greeted with these words: "Hello, Hughes! I have good news for you." I
grew so excited I could hardly stand still. "Well," he said, "you told
me that you had a brother whose name was William, but called Billy for
short?" "Yes," I said. "Did your brother Billy have his fore-finger
chopped off by his brother Louis, when, as boys, they were one day
playing together?" "Yes," I replied. "Then I have found your brother,"
he said. "I have seen the man in Cleveland, and he corroborates your
story in every particular. He says that he was born in Virginia, near
Charlottesville, and was owned by one John Martin." I knew now, beyond
question, that this was my brother William. Words failed me to express
my feelings at this news. The prospect of seeing my brother, lost so
many years before, made me almost wild with joy. I thanked the agent for
the interest he had taken in me, and for the invaluable and
comprehensive information he had brought. He could hardly have done me a
greater favor, or bound me to him by a more lasting obligation.

My first step was to arrange for a leave of absence from my work, which
I found no difficulty in accomplishing, and by night I was aboard the
express going to Cleveland. My excitement did not diminish as I sped on
my journey, and the speed of the express was too slow for my eager
anticipations. Upon reaching Cleveland I went directly to the hotel
where I was told my brother was employed, and inquired at the office for
Billy Hughes. A bell boy was summoned to take me around to the
department where he was. When we met neither of us spoke for some
moments--speech is not for such occasions, but silence rather, and the
rush of thoughts. When the first flash of feeling had passed I spoke,
calling him by name, and he addressed me as brother. There seemed to be
no doubt on either side as to our true relationship, though the
features of each had long since faded forever from the memory of the
other. He took me to his house; and each of us related his story with
such feelings as few can fully appreciate. He told me that he had never
heard anything of our mother or brother. He went back to the old home in
Virginia, after the close of the rebellion, but could get no trace of
her.

As we related our varied experiences--the hardships, the wrongs and
sorrows which we endured and at last the