Aunt Mary, Bessie and her young Squire, Charles’s wife, baby, and all.  There was a universal rush, and one simultaneous shout of, “Willie!  Willie!” Charles’s young wife threw herself into his arms; but all the rest clustered round the young stranger, as the happy father clasped him to his bosom.  When the tumult of emotion had subsided a little, Charles introduced each one separately to his brother, explaining their relationship as well as he could in the Indian dialect.  Their words were unintelligible to the wanderer, but he understood their warmth of welcome, and said,—­

“Me tank.  Me no much speak.”

Mr. Wharton went into the bedroom and returned with a morocco case, which he opened and placed in the stranger’s hand, saying, in a solemn tone,—­

“Your mother.”

Charles, with a tremor in his voice, repeated the word in the Indian tongue.  Willie gazed at the blue eyes of the miniature, touched them, pointed to the sky, and said,—­

“Me see she, time ago.”

All supposed that he meant the memories of his childhood.  But he in fact referred to the vision he had seen four years before, as he explained to them afterward, when he had better command of their language.

The whole family wept as the miniature passed from hand to hand, and, with a sudden outburst of grief, Charles exclaimed,—­

“Oh, if she were only here with us this happy day!”

“My son, she is with us,” said his father, impressively.

William was the only one who seemed unmoved.  He did not remember his mother, except as he had seen her in that moment of clairvoyance; and it had been part of his Indian training to suppress emotion.  But he put his hand on his heart, and said,—­

“Me no much speak.”

When the little red-and-yellow basket was brought forward, it awakened no recollections in his mind.  They pointed to it, and said, “Wik-a-nee, Moppet”; but he made no response.

His father eyed him attentively, and said,—­

“It surely must be our Willie.  I see the resemblance to myself.  We cannot be mistaken.”

“I know he is our Willie,” said Charles; and removing his brother’s coat, he showed what was intended to be the likeness of a prairie-dog.  His father and Uncle George remembered it well; and it was a subject of regret that William could not be made to understand any jokes about his boyish state of mind on that subject.  Mr. Wharton pointed to the chair he used to occupy, and said,—­

“It seems hardly possible that this tall stranger can be the little Willie who used to sit there.  But it is our Willie.  God be praised!” He paused a moment, and added, “Before we partake of our Thanksgiving dinner, let us all unite in thanks to our Heavenly Father; ’for this my son was dead and is alive again, he was lost and is found.’”

They all rose, and he offered a prayer, to which heart-felt emotion imparted eloquence.