In another moment we were inside.  We walked along a wide corridor and into an office, and then a short, stout man, Mr. Carr, the deputy, joined us.

“This way, please,” he said, and gave a kindly glance at Kate and myself.  “You will have to leave the basket here.  I will see that it reaches the—­ the—­ your father.”

He led the way.  How my heart beat!  Why, I cannot tell.

“I’ll go in first,” said my Uncle Enos.

We entered a room.  In a moment the deputy brought in a man dressed in striped clothing, and with his hair cut close.  It was my father.

My uncle and I rushed forward.  But we were too late.  With a cry Kate was in his arms.  It was a great moment all around.

“My children!  My Katie and my Roger!” was all my father could say, but the words went straight home.

“I am heartily glad that you are back,” he said then to my uncle.  “You will look after them, Enos, until I am free.”

“Indeed I will,” replied Captain Enos, heartily.  “But you must listen to Roger.  He has a long story to tell.”

“Then tell it.  I am dying to hear news from home.”  We sat down, and I told my story.  Perhaps the deputy ought not to have allowed me to say all I did, but he pretended not to hear.

My father listened with keen attention to every word, and as I went on, his eyes grew brighter and brighter.

“Roger, my faithful boy, you almost make me hope for freedom,” he cried.  “Oh, how I long to be set right before the world!”

“God make it so,” put in my uncle, solemnly.  “To suffer unjustly is terrible.”

Then I told of my interview with Mr. Woodward in his library and of Holtzmann.

“Holtzmann was one of the principal witnesses against me,” said my father.  “So was Nicholas Weaver, who managed the Brooklyn business for Holland & Mack.  Who John Stumpy can be I do not know.  Perhaps I would if I saw him face to face.  There was another man—­ he was quite bald, with a red blotch on the front of his hand—­ who was brought forward by Woodward to prove that he had nothing to do with the presentation of the forged checks and notes, but what his name was I have forgotten.”

“This can’t be the man, for he has a heavy head of hair,” I replied.  “But I am sure Stumpy is not his true name.”

“Probably not.  Well, Roger, do your best, not only for me but for Katie’s sake and your own.”

Then the conversation became general, and all too soon the half hour was at an end.  My father sent his regards to Mrs. Canby, with many thanks for the basket of delicacies, and then with a kiss for Kate and a shake of the hand to Uncle Enos and me, we parted.

Little was said on the way back.  No one cared to go to a restaurant, and we took the first train homeward.

It was dark when we reached Newville.  The Widow Canby’s carriage was at the depot waiting for us.

“Suppose I get my ticket for Chicago now,” said I.  “It will save time Monday, and I can find out all about the train.”