This sign of itself was interesting enough.  Evidently here was the place where her stepfather and Captain Gould and Mr. Hamilton had done business years before.  But more interesting still was the group of men standing on the platform under the sign.  There were four of these men, dressed in clothes and hats which—­especially the hats—­looked queer and old-fashioned now.  Two of the men Mary-’Gusta recognized, or thought she did.  They were Captain Shadrach and Mr. Hamilton.  Much younger they looked, of course; their hair was not gray and Zoeth wore a beard, while Shadrach had only a mustache.  But, in spite of these things and the odd clothes they wore, she was sure she recognized them.  And, having recognized them, she also recognized the man in the center of the group as her stepfather, Captain Marcellus Hall.  The fourth man, evidently younger than the others, a handsome, square-shouldered chap in his shirtsleeves, she did not know.

She turned the photograph over.  On its back was written: 

Firm of Hall and Company.  Taken August 19th, 1877. 
Marcellus Hall
Zoeth J. Hamilton
Edgar S. Farmer
Shadrach B. Gould.

The names were in differing handwritings.  Evidently each man had signed the photograph.

Mary-’Gusta scrutinized the photograph again.  Then, with it in her hand, she descended to the kitchen.  Isaiah was sitting in a chair by the stove reading a newspaper.

“Mr. Chase,” said Mary-’Gusta, “who was Edgar S. Farmer?”

If that kitchen chair had been the never-to-be-forgotten piece of furniture with the music box beneath it and that box had started to play, Isaiah could not have risen more promptly.  He literally jumped to his feet and the paper flew from his hands.  He whirled upon the questioner.

“What?” he demanded.  “What’s that you said?”

He was pale, actually pale.  Mary-’Gusta was frightened.

“Why—­why, I just asked—­” she faltered, “I just asked who—­who—­What can be the matter, Mr. Chase?”

Isaiah waved his hand.  “What did you ask?” he demanded.

“I asked—­I asked who Edgar S. Farmer was, that’s all.  I didn’t mean—­I didn’t know—­”

“Be still!  Be still, for mercy sakes!  What do you know about Ed Farmer?  Who told you about him?”

The girl was more frightened than ever.  Isaiah’s next move did not tend to reassure her.  He strode to the door, looked up the lane, and closed and locked the door before she could find words to answer.

“Now, then,” he said, coming close to her and looking her straight in the face, “who told you about Ed Farmer?”

“Nobody told me.  Honest, they didn’t.”

“Somebody must have told you; else how did you know?”

Mary-’Gusta hesitatingly held up the photograph.  “It’s written on this,” she said.

Mr. Chase snatched it from her hand.  He looked at the picture and then at her.