Late one afternoon Robert Coverdale reached Columbus on his Western trip. The next day he was to push on to the town of Dexter, where he had information that the boy of whom he was in search lived.

The train, however, did not leave till eleven o'clock in the forenoon, and Robert felt justified in devoting his leisure hours to seeing what he could of the city and its surroundings.

He took an early breakfast and walked out into the suburbs.

As he strolled along a little boy, about seven years old, ran to meet him.

"Please, mister," he said, "won't you come quick? There's a boy layin' by the road back there, and I guess he's dead!"

Robert needed no second appeal. His heart was warm and he liked to help others when he could.

"Show me where, bub," he said.

The little fellow turned and ran back, Robert keeping pace with him.

By the roadside, stretched out, pale and with closed eyes, lay the poor bound boy, known as Bill Benton.

He was never very strong, and the scanty fare to which he had been confined had sapped his physical strength.

Robert, at first sight, thought he was dead. He bent down and put his hand upon the boy's heart. It was beating, though faintly.

"Is he dead, mister?" asked the boy.

"No, but he has fainted away. Is there any water near by?"

Yes, there was a spring close at hand, the little boy said.

Robert ran to it, soaked his handkerchief in it, and, returning, laved the boy's face. The result was encouraging.

Bill opened his eyes and asked in a wondering tone:

"Where am I?"

"You are with a friend," said Robert soothingly. "How do you feel?"

"I am very tired and weak," murmured Bill.

"Are you traveling?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"I don't know."

Robert thought that the boy's mind might be wandering, but continued:

"Have you no friends in Columbus?"

"No. I have no friends anywhere!" answered Bill sorrowfully, "except
Dick Schmidt."

"I suppose Dick is a boy?"

"Yes."

"Where have you been living?"

"You won't take me back there?" said Bill uneasily.

"I won't take you anywhere where you don't want to go. I want to be your friend, if you will let me."

"I should like a friend," answered Bill slowly. Then, examining the kind, boyish face that was bent over him, he said, "I like you."

"Have you had anything to eat to-day?" asked Robert.

"No."

"Will you go with me to my hotel?"

"I have no money."

"Poor boy!" thought Robert, "it is easy enough to see that."

Bill's ragged clothes were assurance enough of the truth of what he said.

"I must take care of this poor boy," thought Robert. "It will delay me, but I can't leave him."

He heard the sound of approaching wheels, and, looking up, saw a man approaching in a wagon. Robert signaled him to stop.

"I want to take this boy to the hotel," he said, "but he has not strength enough to walk. Will you take us aboard? I will pay you a fair price."

"Poor little chap! He looks sick, that's a fact!" said the kind-hearted countryman. "Yes, I'll give you both a lift, and I won't ask a cent."

There was some surprise felt at the hotel when Robert appeared with his new-found friend. Some of the servants looked askance at the ragged clothes, but Robert said quietly:

"I will pay for him," and no objection was made.

When Bill was undressed and put to bed and had partaken of a refreshing breakfast he looked a great deal brighter and seemed much more cheerful.

"You are very kind," he said to Robert.

"I hope somebody would do as much for me if I needed it," answered
Robert. "Do you mind telling me about yourself?"

"I will tell anything you wish," said Bill, who now felt perfect confidence in his new friend.

"What is your name?"

"Bill Benton; at any rate, that's what they call me."

"Don't you think it's your real name, then?"

"No."

"Have you any remembrance of your real name?" asked Robert, not dreaming of the answer he would receive.

"When I was a little boy they called me Julian, but——"

"Julian!" repeated Robert eagerly.

"Yes."

"Can you tell what was your last name?" asked Robert quickly.

Bill shook his head.

"No, I don't remember."

"Tell me," said Robert, "did you live with a man named Badger in the town of Dexter?"

The sick boy started and seemed extremely surprised.

"How did you find out?" he asked. "Did Mr. Badger send you for me?"

"I never saw Mr. Badger in my life."

Bill—er perhaps I ought to say Julian—looked less anxious.

"Yes," he said, "but he treated me badly and I ran away."

"Did you ever hear of a man named Charles Waldo?"

"Yes, he was the man that sent me to Mr. Badger."

"It's a clear case!" thought Robert, overjoyed, "I have no doubt now that I have found the hermit's son. Poor boy, how he must have suffered!"

"Julian," said he, "do you know why I am traveling—what brought me here? But of course you don't. I came to find you."

"To find me? But you said——"

"No, it was not Mr. Badger nor Mr. Waldo that sent me. They are your enemies. The one that sent me is your friend. Julian, how would you like to have a father?"

"My father is dead."

"Who told you so?"

"Mr. Waldo. He told Mr. Badger so."

"He told a falsehood, then. You have a father, and as soon as you are well enough I'll take you to him."

"Will he be kind to me?"

"Do not fear. For years he has grieved for you, supposing you dead. Once restored to him, you will have everything to make you happy. Your father is a rich man, and you won't be overworked again."

"What is my father's name?" asked Julian.

"His name is Gilbert Huet."

"Huet! Yes, that's the name!" exclaimed Julian eagerly. "I remember it now. My name used to be Julian Huet, but Mr. Waldo was always angry whenever any one called me by that name, and so he changed it to Bill Benton."

"He must be a great scoundrel," said Robert. "Now, Julian, I will tell you my plan. I don't believe there is anything the matter with you except the want of rest and good food. You shall have both. You also want some new clothes."

"Yes," said Julian, looking at the ragged suit which now hung over a chair. "I should like some new clothes."

A doctor was called, who confirmed Robert's opinion.

"The youngster will be all right in a week or ten days," he said. "All he wants is rest and good living."

"How soon will he be able to travel?"

"In a week, at the outside."

During this week Robert's attention was drawn to the following paragraph in a copy of the Dexter Times, a small weekly paper, which he found in the reading room of the hotel:

"A DESPERATE YOUNG RUFFIAN.—We understand that a young boy in the service of Mr. Nathan Badger, one of our most respected citizens, has disappeared under very extraordinary circumstances. The evening previous to his departure he made an unprovoked attack upon Mr. and Mrs. Badger, actually throwing Mr. Badger downstairs and firing a pistol at Mrs. Badger. He was a small, slight boy, but the strength he exhibited was remarkable in thus coping successfully with a strong man. Mr. Badger thinks the boy must have been suddenly attacked by insanity of a violent character."

"What does this mean, Julian?" asked Robert, reading the paragraph to his young protege.

"I don't know," answered Julian, astonished. "I spent the last night before I came away with my friend Dick Schmidt."

In a few days Julian looked quite another boy. His color began to return and his thin form to fill out, while his face wore a peaceful and happy expression.

In a new and handsome suit of clothes he looked like a young gentleman and not at all like Bill Benton, the bound boy. He was devotedly attached to Robert, the more so because he had never before—as far as his memory went—received so much kindness from any one as from him.

"Now," thought Robert, "I am ready to go back to Cook's Harbor and restore Julian to his father."