Such was the state of things, when Charles Wharton returned from the village-store, one day, with some articles wrapped in a newspaper from Indiana.  A vague feeling of curiosity led him to glance over it, and his attention was at once arrested by the following paragraph:—­

“A good deal of interest has been excited here by the appearance of a young man, who supposes himself to be twenty-three years old, evidently white, but with the manners and dress of an Indian.  He says he was carried away from his home by Indians, and they have always told him he was then six years old.  He speaks no English, and an Indian interpreter who is with him is so scantily supplied with words that the information we have obtained is very unsatisfactory.  But we have learned that the young man is trying to find his mother.  Some of our neighbors regard him as an impostor.  But he does not ask for money, and there is something in his frank physiognomy calculated to inspire confidence.  We therefore believe his statement, and publish it, hoping it may be seen by some bereaved family.”

Charles rushed into the field, and exclaimed,—­

“Father, I do believe we have at last got some tidings of Willie!”

“Where?  What is it?” was the quick response.

The offered newspaper was eagerly seized, and the father’s hand trembled visibly while he read the paragraph.

“We must start for Indiana directly,” he said; and he walked rapidly toward the house, followed by his son.

Arriving at the gate, he paused and said,—­

“But, Charles, he will have altered so much that perhaps we shouldn’t know him; and it may be, as the people say, that this youth is an impostor.”

The young man replied, unhesitatingly,—­

“I can tell whether he is an impostor.  I shall know my brother.”

His voice quivered a little, as he spoke the last word.

Mr. Wharton, without appearing to notice it, said,—­

“You have a great deal of work on hand at this season.  Wouldn’t it be better for Uncle George and me to go?”

He answered impetuously,—­

“If all my property goes to ruin, I will hunt for Willie all over the earth, so long as there is any hope of finding him, I always felt as if mother couldn’t forgive me for leaving him that day, though she always tried to make me think she did.  And now, if we find him at last, she is not here to”——­

His voice became choked.

Mr. Wharton replied, impressively,—­

“She will come with him, my son.  Wherever he may be, they are not divided now.”

The next morning Charles started on his expedition, having made preparations for an absence of some months, if so long a time should prove necessary.  The first letters received from him were tantalizing.  The young man and his interpreter had gone to Michigan, in consequence of hearing of a family there who had lost a little son many years ago.  But those who had seen him in Indiana described him as having brown eyes and hair, and as saying that his mother’s eyes were the color of the sky, Charles hastened to Michigan.  The wanderer had been there, but had left, because the family he sought were convinced he was not their son.  They said he had gone to Canada, with the intention of rejoining the tribe of Indians he had left.