“To tell the truth, Launcelot,” he began slowly, “I have something strange to tell the Judge, and I didn’t want him to get away before I saw him.  It isn’t a thing to write about—­and oh, why did I miss that train—­”

Launcelot waited while the minister stared wistfully down the shining track.

“Look here, Launcelot,” he asked, suddenly, “do you remember that Spanish coin of Judy’s?”

“Well, I should say I did,” replied the boy.

“It’s the strangest thing—­the strangest thing—­oh, I’m going to tell you all about it, and see if you can help me out.  Is there any place that we can be quite alone?  I want to read this letter to you.”

“There isn’t a soul in the waiting-room,” said Lancelot, “we can go in there.  You’d better run on without me, Tommy,” he called, “the doctor wants me.  You can catch up with the girls if you hurry,” and Tommy, who had eyed the pair with curiosity, departed crestfallen.

“I received this letter this morning,” explained Dr. Grennell, as they sat down in the stuffy little room.  “Read it.  It’s from an old friend of mine in Newfoundland—­a physician.”

The letter opened with personal matters, but the paragraph that the minister pointed out to Lancelot read thus: 

“We have had a rather unusual case here lately.  You know how often we have men brought to the hospital who have been shipwrecked, and as a rule there is little that is interesting about them—­most of them are the type of ordinary seamen.  Our latest case, however, was entered by the captain of a sailing vessel, who reported that they had picked the man up from a raft.  That he was delirious then, and had never been able to tell them who he was or whence he came.  He is still very ill and unconscious, and there is not a paper about him of identification.  He is a gentlemen—­I am sure of that, for his broken sentences are uttered in perfect English, and his hands tell it, too.  As I have said, there isn’t a letter or a paper about him, but around his neck on a silver chain we found the coin which I enclose.  I know your fancy for odd coins, and so I send it, thinking perhaps you may give us some clue to our patient’s identity.”

Launcelot’s eyes were bright with excitement as he finished reading.

“Let me see the coin,” he begged, eagerly, and as the doctor handed it to him, he jumped to his feet.

“I thought so,” he shouted, “it’s a Spanish coin, like Judy’s.”

“Well,” said the minister, quietly, but his hand beating against his knee showed that his agitation matched Launcelot’s—­“What then?”

“Why, the man must be Judy’s father!” said Launcelot, and when he had thus voiced the doctor’s thought, the two stared at each other with white faces.

“She always believed he was alive,” said Launcelot at last.

“Pray God that it is really he?” said Dr. Grennell, reverently.

“And now what can we do?” asked the boy.