Few of us find our cherished dreams come true, but Laurie Meredith had that pleasure, for on Poky's cabin floor he found his own child playing—a dimpled tot of three years, with Flower's arch and lovely face lighted by his own brown eyes.

Poky did not attempt to deny the truth. She was only too happy to see Laurie Meredith and confide to him the whole story of her possession of the child.

"I lied about it before for Miss Flower's sake," she said. "She was so terribly 'fraid of Miss Jule dat she wouldn't 'low me to tell de trufe eben to Sam, and she stole away, leabing de baby for dead in my arms, and Lor', what a shock it gin me to feel, it move presently and open its big eyes at me! 'Twan't dead at all, only smothered like for a few minutes. Well, Miss Flower were gone den, so I concluded to take keer o' de little one till she come back. But, Lor', she never did come back, and I began to think she must be dead, when one day dere came a letter wid a money order for five hundred dollars from ober in Lon'on. I ain't got no friends in Lon'on, and says I to myself, 'tis from Miss Flower. She done got rich somehow, but dere warn't no 'dress in de letter, so what could I do to let her know dat little Douglas was alive arter all? Nuthin', Massa Meredith, and I wouldn't never send word to you 'cause I'se feard you wouldn't keer 'bout my sweet little Douglas. But bein' as you has found it out, I'se glad, 'cause how I've been worried nights thinkin' as how 'twan't right to raise that little w'ite chile along o' my black one!" for Poky had a two-year-old, a bright image of Sam, playing about the cabin floor.

Laurie Meredith took the bright, neatly dressed Douglas in his arms and told him that he was his own papa, and that he was going to carry him a long ways off to live with his dear grandmamma in Boston.

Here Sam lounged in, and great was his delight at seeing Laurie Meredith again, and hearing that little Douglas was his own child.

"Dat's what I always thought, although Poky would insist dat she foun' it down in de ole barn one day, and didn't know whose chile 'twas, anyway," he said, with a grin of delight.

Then, having found out long ago, through mysterious hints of his clever wife, that it was Jewel who had abstracted his precious papers, he proceeded to gratify his spite against her by informing Laurie of the part he had played that night in taking that important letter to Flower and returning the answer that had so fatally changed the current of Flower Fielding's life.

"Arter things turned out so strange I was allays afeered, Massa Laurie, as how I done wrong a-giving her de letter, but co'se I didn't know den what a snake in de grass she was, anyway."

While Laurie gazed at him with dilated eyes, he continued:

"What makes me all de more sure dat she played me false dat night is dis: De young pos'-office clerk, he usen to be despret in love with Miss Flower, and last year, w'en he died wid de fever, he 'fessed to de preacher dat he usen to gib Miss Jewel all de letters you sent her sister through de pos'-office, likewise hers to you, Massa Laurie. Miss Jewel promised to marry him, but she went away to some big city, and he nebber heerd of her no more. Lord-a-massy, Poky, look at de man—he's a-dying!"

"No, I am not dying, Sam, although this shock has driven the blood from my face," faintly uttered Laurie Meredith. He struggled with his weakness a few moments, then added, "My good woman, get my child ready, for I must go at once to right the wrong that was begun by Sam's treachery to me that night, and by Jewel Fielding's sin. Out of my sight, man, for I feel tempted to rend you limb from limb! Nothing saves you except that your wife's beautiful humanity in this whole affair condones somewhat for your sin. For her noble sake I forego my revenge, and spare you!"