“Who are you?” he asked.

“I am Roberta Marsden.  My papa’s name is Robert, and my mamma called me Roberta after him.”

[Illustration:  “My Papa’s name was Robert, and my Mamma named me Roberta, after him.”]

He raised himself upon one elbow.  A flush burned in his cheeks.  It was like a flame through alabaster.

“I don’t understand,” he said; “what does it all mean?”

Right there old Squire put in an appearance.

“Don’t you know me, Mars Robert?  It’s Squire dat useter ’long ter you.”

“Yes; I know you.  How are you, Squire?  But this child, who is she?”

“Your own flesh an’ blood, Mars Robert, born’d after you went away an’ left Miss July.”

Colonel Marsden sank back on the pillow with a groan and covered his eyes with his hands.

“O, Uncle Squire!” cried Roberta, “you have hurt his feelings.  But she isn’t mad at you, Papa, not a bit.  She told me to tell you, that for ten long years the string has been on the outside of the latch for you.  She did indeed, Papa.”

“She is an angel,” said Colonel Marsden.  There was moisture in his fine eyes.

“That’s what Mam’ Sarah says.  She says she is afraid every morning that she will find mamma’s wings sprouting.”

“But why was I not written to?  Why was I not told I had a child?” Again a groan escaped him.  “My God!” he cried, “I forgot I had no right to expect that.  Like a self-willed child I wantonly threw away life’s choicest blessings, was unmindful of its most sacred obligations.”

His lips moved for an instant in silent prayer, and then he stretched out his arms yearningly toward the child and asked almost humbly: 

“Will my little daughter give me a kiss?”

The child crept to him and kissed him again and again.

“I do not deserve this blessing from Heaven; I do not deserve this darling little daughter.”

“And you have the darlingest and most beautiful wife in all the world!” cried the child.

“Lawd, honey!” said old Squire—­he was in a broad grin—­“he know’d her long fo’ you did.”

“Is she like this?” asked Colonel Marsden.

He reached under his pillow and drew thence a small square case and handed it to Roberta.

Roberta fairly screamed:  “It’s my mamma; it’s my own darling mamma!  Now I know how much you love her, or you wouldn’t carry her picture about with you.”

“It has never been away from me an instant, never one instant.”

“Why did you stay away from her so long if you loved her so dearly?” Her great brown eyes were lifted in wonder to his face.  “I can’t stay away from her a single day.  Sometimes, even when I’m just out in the yard playing, I have to come back and peep at mamma, to be sure she is there.”

A red flush mounted to Colonel Marsden’s temples.

“I must tell her first, little daughter; and if she forgives me, will not you?”