“None whatever, sir.”

“Who are you, Smith?”

“I—­I don’t know, sir.”

Mr. Merrick was getting provoked.

“This obstinacy is not likely to win our confidence,” he said.  “Under the circumstances I think we ought to know something more about you, before we allow you to undertake so much responsibility.  You seem a bright, able young man, and I’ve no doubt you understand the work you’re about to undertake, but if we have no knowledge of your antecedents you may cause us considerable future trouble.”

Smith bowed his head and his cheeks flamed red.

“I have no knowledge of my antecedents to confide to you, sir,” he said in a low voice.

Uncle John sighed regretfully and turned away, but Patsy looked at the man with new interest.

“Won’t you please explain that a little more fully?” she gently inquired.

“I am quite willing to tell all I know,” said he; “but that is very little, I assure you.  Two years ago last May, on the morning of Thursday, the twenty-second, I awoke to find myself lying in a ditch beside a road.  Of my life previous to that time I have no knowledge whatever.”

The three girls regarded him with startled eyes.  Uncle John turned from the window to examine the young man with new interest.

“Were you injured?” he asked.

“My right ankle was sprained and I had a cut under my left eye—­you can see the scar still.”

“You have no idea how you came there?”

“Not the slightest.  I did not recognize the surrounding country; I had no clear impression as to who I was.  There was a farmhouse a quarter of a mile away; I limped to it and they gave me some breakfast.  I found I was fifty-six miles from New York.  The farmer had heard of no accident; there was no railway nearer than six miles; the highway was little used.  I told the good people my story and they suspected me of being drunk or crazy, but did not credit a single word I said.”

“That was but natural,” said Uncle John.

“After breakfast I took stock of myself.  In my pockets I found a twenty-dollar bill and some silver.  I wore a watch and chain and a ring set with a good-sized diamond.  My clothing seemed good, but the ditch had soiled it.  I had no hat, nor could the farmer find one when I sent him back to look for it.  My mind was not wholly a blank; I seemed to have a fair knowledge of life, and when the farmer mentioned New York the city seemed familiar to me.  But in regard to myself, my past history—­even my name—­I was totally ignorant.  All personal consciousness dated from the moment I woke up in the ditch.”

“How wonderful!” exclaimed Louise.

“And you haven’t solved the mystery yet, after two years?” asked Patsy.