outly.

"Harry what? Harry Carew?"

"No, Harry; just Harry."

"And how do you like it here?"

"I like it; I like it better than my old home."

"Where was your old home?"

"I don't know. I didn't like it."

"He was with uncongenial people, and he is very sensitive," put in Mrs.
Carew, softly.

"I like it here," he repeated, "and I like the big ocean. I am going on
the ocean. And I like horses. Get up, Dandy!" and he cracked his whip
and was off again on his imaginary trot.

I felt very foolish over the doubts I had so openly evinced. This was
not only a boy to the marrow of his bones, but he was, as any eye could
see, the near relative she called him. In my embarrassment I rose; at
all events I soon found myself standing near the door with Mrs. Carew.

"A fine fellow!" I enthusiastically exclaimed; "and startlingly like you
in expression. He is your nephew, I believe?"

"Yes," she replied, somewhat wistfully I thought.

I felt that I should apologize for--well, perhaps for the change she
must have discerned in my manner.

"The likeness caused me a shock. I was not prepared for it, I suppose."

She looked at me quite wonderingly.

"I have never heard any one speak of it before. I am glad that you see
it." And she seemed glad, very glad.

But I know that for some reason she was gladder yet when I turned to
depart. However, she did not hasten me.

"What are you going to do next?" she inquired, as she courteously led
the way through the piles of heaped-up boxes and baskets, the number of
which had rather grown than diminished since my visit the evening
before. "Pardon my asking."

"Resort to my last means," said I. "See and talk with Mrs. Ocumpaugh."

An instant of hesitation on her part, so short, however, that I could
hardly detect it, then she declared:

"But you can not do that."

"Why not?"

"She is ill; I am sure that they will let no one approach her. One of
her maids was in this morning. She did not even ask me to come over."

"I am sorry," said I, "but I shall make the effort. The illness which
affects Mrs. Ocumpaugh can be best cured by the restoration of her
child."

"But you have not found Gwendolen?" she replied.

"No; but I have discovered footprints on the dust of the bungalow floor,
and, as you know, a bit of candy which looks as if it had been crushed
in a sleeping child's hand, and I am in need of every aid possible in
order to make the most of these discoveries. They may po