“May I ask your name?” asked Joe, and his voice trembled in spite of his efforts at self-control.

“Sure you can.  It’s Bill Bodley.”

“William A. Bodley?”

“Yes.  But how do you happen to know my full name?”

“Did you once own a farm in Millville, Iowa?”

“I had a farm in Iowa, yes.  It was Millville Center in those days.”

Joe drew closer and looked at the man with care and emotion.

“Did you ever have a brother named Hiram Bodley?”

“I did—­but he has been dead for years.”

“No, Hiram Bodley died only a short time ago,” answered Joe.  “I used to live with him.  My name is Joe Bodley.  He told me I was his nephew.”

“You his nephew!  Hiram Bodley’s nephew!  We didn’t have any brothers or sisters, and he was a bachelor!”

“I know he was a bachelor.  But I don’t know—­” Joe paused.

“He told me Joe died, at least I got a letter from somebody to that effect.  But I was near crazy just then, and I can’t remember exactly how it was.  I lost my wife and two children and then I guess I about lost my mind for a spell.  I sold out, and the next thing I knew I was roving around the mountains and in rags.  Then I took to mining, and now I’ve got a mine of my own, up yonder in the mountains.  Come in and talk this over.”

Joe entered the cabin and sat down, and William Bodley plied him with questions, all of which he answered to the best of his ability.

“There was a blue tin box I had,” said he, presently, “that contained some documents that were mine.”

“A blue tin box!” ejaculated Joe.  “Hiram Bodley had it and it got lost.  I found it a long time afterwards and some parts of the documents were destroyed.  I have the rest in my suit case at the hotel.”

“Can I see those papers?”

“Certainly.”

“Perhaps you are my son, Joe?”

“Perhaps I am, sir.”

They went to the hotel, and the documents were produced.  Then William Bodley brought out some letters he possessed.  Man and boy went over everything with care.

“You must be my son!” cried William Bodley.  “Thank heaven you are found!” And they shook hands warmly.

He told Joe to move over to the cabin, and our hero did so.  It was a neat and clean place and soon Joe felt at home.  Then he heard his father’s tale in detail—­an odd and wonderful story—­of great trials and hardship.

“There will always be something of a mystery about this,” said William Bodley.  “But, no matter, so long as I have you with me.”

“Uncle Hiram was a queer stick,” answered Joe.  “I suppose if he was alive he could explain many things.”  And in this Joe was correct.

Let us add a few words more and then draw our tale to a close.

When Joe told Maurice Vane how he had found a father the gentlemen was much astonished.  So were the Badgers, but all were glad matters had ended so well.