. Well, come back in half an hour. Yes!" she screamed, "these are his father's features! It is—it is my son!" "Mother!" cried Thames; "are you, indeed, my mother?" "I am, indeed—my own sweet boy!" she sobbed, pressing him tenderly to her breast. " "Bring your story to an end, Sir," said Trenchard who had listened to the recital with mingled emotions of rage and fear. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. And what was singular she did not recount to the doctor that morning's adventure. . \"Hey, I'm Michelle.
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