“Very well,” and our hero jumped into the rickety turnout which went by the name of the Millville stage.

The drive was not a long one and soon they came to a halt in front of a residence where a man wearing a carpenter’s apron was mending a broken-down porch.

“There’s Joe,” said the stage driver, laconically.

The man looked up in wonder when Joe approached him.  He dropped his hammer and stood with his arms on his hips.

“This is Mr. Joseph Korn, I believe?”

“That’s me, young man.”

“I am Joe Bodley.  You wrote to Mr. Talmadge, of Riverside, a few days ago.  I came on to find out what I could about a Mr. William A. Bodley who used to live here.”

“Oh, yes!  Well, young man, I can’t tell you much more ’n I did in that letter.  Bodley sold out, house, goods and everything, and left for parts unknown.”

“Did he have any relatives around here?”

“Not when he left.  He had a wife and three children—­a girl and two boys—­but they died.”

“Did you ever hear of any relatives coming to see him—­a man named Hiram Bodley?”

“Not me—­but Augustus Greggs—­who bought his farm—­might know about it.”

“I’ll take you to the Greggs’ farm for ten cents,” put in the stage driver.

Again a bargain was struck, and a drive of ten minutes brought them to the farm, located on the outskirts of Millville.  They found the farm owner at work by his wood pile, sawing wood.  He was a pleasant appearing individual.

“Come into the house,” he said putting down his saw.  “I’m glad to see you,” and when our hero had entered the little farmhouse he was introduced to Mrs. Greggs and two grown-up sons, all of whom made him feel thoroughly at home.

“To tell the truth,” said Mr. Greggs, “I did not know William Bodley very well.  I came here looking for a farm and heard this was for sale, and struck a bargain with him.”

“Was he alone at that time?” questioned Joe.

“He was, and his trouble seemed to have made him a bit queer—­not but what he knew what he was doing.”

“Did you learn anything about his family?”

“He had lost his wife and two children by disease.  What had happened to the other child was something of a mystery.  I rather supposed it had died while away from home, but I was not sure.”

“Have you any idea at all what became of William Bodley?”

“Not exactly.  Once I met a man in Pittsburg who had met a man of that name in Idaho, among the mines.  Both of us wondered if that William A. Bodley was the same that I had bought my farm from.”

“Did he say what part of Idaho?”

“He did, but I have forgotten now.  Do you think he was a relative of yours?”

“I don’t know what to think.  It may be that he was my father.

“Your father?”

“Yes,” and Joe told his story and mentioned the documents found in the blue tin box.