r would not hear of the poor thing being taken to the hospital.
She had her put to bed and the doctor called in. Since that time she
has been threatened with fever; in fact, is partly out of her head,
though Doctor Cadmus says he believes she will be sensible by
to-morrow morning. She was simply half-starved, and dreadfully
worried about something."

"But could you not hear a few random words she uttered that would
give you some idea as to her identity, and where she came from?"
asked the deacon.

"Besides her name, which seemed to be Walters, she has said nothing
that gives us a clue, save that we imagine they must have lived
somewhere in the West."

"In the West--and our Joel started for that section of the country!"
gasped the old lady, still patting the curly head on her lap lovingly.

"And then the lad's name is very similar," broke in the deacon. "Are
you sure, Hugh, if isn't Joel? Might not the child have simply given
the baby pronunciation of Joey?"

"I think that would be very likely, sir," admitted the boy readily.

Again the agitated couple exchanged looks. Hugh would certainly
never forget the joyous expression that sat upon both faces. It was
as though Heaven had opened to them, and given them back the child of
their younger years.

The deacon dropped down on his knees. One arm went around his aged
wife and the little fellow she cuddled in her lap. In sonorous tones
he lifted up his voice and gave thanks from the depths of his heart
for the great mercy shown to them that night.

Hugh was deeply affected. He believed some invisible hand must have
guided him when he took that sudden notion to have the child go
walking with him, his mother having suggested that it might do the
little chap good to get an airing after being shut up in the house
all day long.

His mind raced back, and once more he marshalled all the facts, as
far as he knew them, before him. Yes, there did not seem to be any
reason to believe such a thing as a sad mistake could be made. That
boy certainly had the Winslow blood in him; why, he greatly resembled
the Joel of more than fifty years back, as shown in that old-time
daguerreotype.

Then Deacon Winslow once more rose to his feet. His face was fairly
radiant, as was that of his wife.

"I believe I can understand how this comes about," he was saying,
just as if he might have had a revelation as he prayed there. "It is
no accident, but the hand of a special Provid