He put his hand in the side pocket of his coat and drew forth a great mass of chips, all covered with gilt paper.

A look of agony was on Miles’s face.  It was almost worse than finding no father at all, to find such a one as this.

“Don’t you want to take my rod and fish a while, sir?” he said, feeling that it would be impossible for him to longer sit still.

“Thank you; you are very kind.  I might take a single flyer.”

Mr. Darley stepped around to take Miles’s seat, but as the other rose they were face to face, and very close to each other for an instant.  Mr. Darley put out both hands and grasped the boy by the shoulders.

“What is your name?” he said in a tone that was quite different from the one in which he had hitherto spoken.  It was much more decided, and firmer.

“Miles,” answered the other, trying his best to keep his excitement down.

He could see Mrs. Fox standing just behind his father, her hands clasped together in an agony of suspense.

“Miles, eh!  Well, you look as if your name ought to be Maurice.  Great Caesar! doesn’t he look like me, Mrs. Fox?”

He wheeled around so suddenly that the poor old lady was taken quite unawares.  She dropped her hands quickly to her sides and had not a word to say.

“Don’t he look like me?” Mr. Darley now appealed to Sydney, who managed to stammer out:  “I certainly see a strong resemblance, sir.”

“What is your last name, young man?” went on the other.

Miles hesitated an instant.  He was about to say Darley, but some happy instinct prompted him to substitute “Morrisey.”

Mr. Darley started.

“Morrisey, you say?” he exclaimed.

A swift change passed over his features.  He had dropped his hand from Miles’s shoulders, but now reached forth and caught him by the arm.

“Come with me,” he said quietly, and led him into the back room.

The others looked at one another without speaking.  No one thought of the game.  The fish lines, tangled up, were lying in the pasteboard pond.

Mrs. Fox had sunk down on the sofa, her head covered with her apron.  From the inner room came the subdued sound of voices.

“Do you suppose he has recognized him?” It was Rex who at length broke the silence, and he spoke in an awed whisper.

Nobody made any reply, for footsteps were heard approaching from the rear.  It was Miles.  His face was handsomer than Rex had ever seen it.  It was lighted up with joy.

He came straight to Rex and put a hand on his shoulder, while he leaned over till his chin rested on the other’s head.

“I want to tell you first, Rex,” he said, “who have been the means of bringing me to this happiness.  He knows me.  His mind has come back to him.  He called me Maurice, and he remembers giving me to the Morriseys to take care of for a while.  Then his brain went back on him, and he thought I was dead.”