“I have been a very unfortunate man,” said old Mr. Somers, to a gentleman visiting him. “Not that I wish to parade my troubles, but I speak of them with the constant hope of receiving some important information.”

“I am in a trade where a good deal of important information comes in,” said the visitor. “Perhaps I may help you.”

“You are a stranger to me, sir, but I judge from your manner you can sympathize with a father’s misfortune. I will tell you my story.”

“I will listen, and make no promises,” said his visitor, smiling.

He had called on Mr. Somers and asked him a variety of questions which some would have considered impertinent. But his manner was easy and quiet, and the old gentleman answered him without hesitation.

“I am a lonely old man now,” he proceeded, “yet I have a son and daughter, still living, I hope, though I have lost sight of them for years.”

“Indeed,” said his visitor.

“It has been the one aim of my life to find them. I have not yet succeeded, and fear I never shall.”

“Proceed, sir. Who knows but I may help you?”

“I was a poor man at the time of my wife’s death,” he said. “I have since acquired considerable property. I had an enemy.”

“A poor man, too?”

“Yes, a mere vagrant. He smarted under some fancied injury that I had done him. He attacked me near my own home in relation to it. He was a violent-tongued man and insulted me. I was hot-tempered then and I punished him for his insults.”

“Exactly, and made him revengeful!”

“My two children—mere infants then—were stolen one day, in which I was absent and my wife unwell. It is not necessary to enter into particulars. It is enough to say that we traced them to this vagrant. He was sharply pursued, but we never succeeded in finding him.”

“That was indeed a misfortune.”

“It killed my wife, and has made me a wanderer for years. I have constantly sought that villain and the two precious ones he stole. I have traced him, but too late. He has escaped me by death. His secret is in the grave with him.”

“Where did he die?”

“Here. In Philadelphia. That is why I have settled here. I have hopes that the children may still be alive and in this city.”

“This is a decidedly interesting matter,” said the visitor. “It is certainly worth while trying to trace the children. What was the man’s name?”

“Jake Johnson was the name he was always known by.”

“Have you set the police force of the city at work on this search?”

“No, I have not much confidence in them. I preferred to conduct it myself.”

“You did wrong there. A thousand men, well posted about the city, are certainly better than one man not at all posted. Please tell me all you know about this man, how you discovered him, when he died and where he was buried.”

Mr. Somers proceeded to do so, in a long narrative of no special interest to the reader.

“And he kept up his vagrant habits to the last?”

“Yes, but had not the children with him. I can trace him back for some months before his death, and he was alone during that period!”

“He probably did not trouble himself with them long,” said the visitor. “Men of that character, unless they can make some special use of them, do not care to be bothered with incumbrances. He has likely placed them somewhere where he calculated you would never find them.”

“That may be so,” said Mr. Somers, thoughtfully. “But where?”

“That is what we need to consider,” was the reply. “I should go first to the most obvious quarter. Men of his kind naturally gravitate to the poor-house. He may have dropped them in some such place. Have you searched the books of the poor-houses?”

“No,” said Mr. Somers, greatly interested. “I never thought of that.”

“You see where your fault was, then, in depending too much on yourself, and not calling in the detective police. You forget that it is the business of their lives to search out crimes and mysteries.”

“I wish I had met you sooner. It would have been better than the detectives.”

“I am a detective,” was the reply.

“You are?” cried Mr. Somers in great astonishment.

“Yes, sir. My name is Fitler. I thank you for your confidence in this matter. If you wish I will undertake to work it up. I am in doubt, though, that it may be too late.”

“I shall be too happy to have the services of a shrewd man like you. I see I have done you officers injustice. But why have you, a detective, called on me and asked me so many questions?”

“I will tell you,” said Mr. Fitler, “since I am satisfied, from your answers, that I was on a wrong track. You know a boy called Will Somers?”

“I know no such boy!” cried the old gentleman, excitedly. “If I did I should know my own son, for that was his name. Why do you ask me such a question as that?”

“Because you certainly do know him, and have had visits from him. It is that that brings me here.”

“I do not understand you,” said Mr. Somers, in perplexity. “The only boy I know of is one engaged in Mr. Leonard’s dry-goods store. He saved me from being crushed under a street car. I have been very grateful to him, and have called on him, and made him visit me.”

“And is that all?” said the officer, laughing. “You do not know what suspicions have been excited.”

“But Will Somers, you say. Is that his name? I did not ask him.”

“That is his name.”

“Do you think it possible he may be my son?” asked the old gentleman, pathetically.

“It is not impossible,” was the reply. “Will has had a rough life in the streets. I do not know his antecedents.”

“Heaven send he may prove my son,” said the old man, with tears in his eyes. “He is none the worse for his rough life. He is noble, brave, strong and beautiful. I would be glad to call him son.”

“And looks like you, Mr. Somers.”

“Do you really think so? I had a thought that way. That is another important link.”

“Do not build too high on this chance. You may be disappointed. It is worth investigating, though.”

“Yes, yes; it shall be, thoroughly. I must see him this very day—this very hour. But the suspicions you speak of. What are they?”

Mr. Fitler proceeded to give him an outline of the robberies in Mr. Leonard’s store, and Will’s connection with them.

“But do you think that my boy—I must call him my boy—do you think he had anything to do with them? I cannot believe it. He is too straightforward and noble.”

“I believe he is perfectly innocent, and for the very reasons you give. It don’t do, though, for a detective to rest under a belief. We find sometimes the most honest appearance to cover roguery. I make it a rule to follow every trail, no matter how unpromising it seems.”

“You have not much faith in human nature, then?”

“Not an over stock. My experience has not been very much calculated to make me trust people.”

“I trust Will, then. I wish I could see him this minute.”

His wish was granted. At that minute Will was announced.

He came in with his usual easy, indifferent air, nodded to Mr. Fitler, with a look of surprise at seeing him there, and shook hands with Mr. Somers.

“Back ag’in, you see, according to promise.”

“Sit down; I wish to talk to you,” said his host, with suppressed excitement.

“I can take it standing up,” said Will.

Mr. Fitler leaned easily back in his chair, closely observing the two.

“Is your father living?” commenced Mr. Somers, in the tone of a cross-examiner.

“Guess not; never seen him.”

“And your mother?”

“Don’t know as I ever had one.”

“That is a strange story. Where did you grow up? What is your first recollection?”

“Come from where mighty few men care to go—from the poor-house,” said Will, nonchalantly.

Mr. Somers gave a start, and looked intelligently at the officer.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Will Somers.”

“Why did you not tell me that before?” he continued, a glad light upon his face.

“’Cause it was the same as yourn. Thought maybe you might want to be making yourself my uncle or something of that sort.”

“I may be nearer yet,” began Mr. Somers; “I may be—”

He was checked by a sign from Mr. Fitler. Will stood looking from one to the other, with growing surprise on his face. What could they be after?

“I have never heard anything of your early life, Will,” said Mr. Fitler. “I would be glad to know something more about it. Have you any recollection of the man who left you in the alms-house?”

“Not much,” said Will. “I’ve heard he was a seedy-looking customer.”

“Were you alone?”

“Oh, no! there was two of us. I had the nicest little sister with me; or maybe I was the little one, for she was older than me. Poor little thing, I’ve lost her altogether.”

Mr. Somers gave a quick start of delight as Will proceeded.

“How came you to lose her?”

“We was both took out. I’ve heard that some rich folks adopted my sister, and wouldn’t let nothing be knowed about her. I was took out, too, by poor folks. They made me work like a dog, till I run away and shifted for myself.”

“Do you know your sister’s name?”

“I think I’d forget my own afore I did hern,” said Will, reproachfully.

“What was it?”

“A pretty name—Jennie—Jennie Somers,” said Will, dwelling affectionately on the name.

Mr. Somers sprung from his chair in intense excitement, and began vigorously to pace the floor.

Will watched him with surprise. He had yet gained no conception of the mystery; he did not know that the old man was burning to clasp him to his arms.

“I am not questioning you without an object,” said Mr. Fitler, “as you will learn after awhile. I will have to carry this matter to the alms-house, and examine their books and make inquiries, before we can go further. It is a pity you do not remember the name of your reputed father.”

“Who said I didn’t?” asked Will. “He wasn’t no father of mine, for I recollect he treated me bad. What’s more, he left me there under a different name from that he carried himself.”

“What was that name?” asked Mr. Somers, facing Will closely, and looking eagerly into his eyes.

“Jake Johnson.”

With a loud cry of joy, Mr. Somers sprung forward and clasped Will in his arms.

“My son! my son!” he cried, “my long-lost, long-sought son! Oh! this is too great joy! Have I found you at last, my dearly-loved son?”

Will struggled in this close embrace, and looked inquiringly at Mr. Fitler.

“He is right, Will. There is no doubt that he is your father,” said the latter.

With a strong muscular exertion Will pushed the old man from him, his hands firmly grasping his shoulders, and looked him sternly in the eye.

“If you are my father, why was I left in the poor-house? Why did you turn me loose on the world?” he bitterly asked.

“My God! I turn you loose! You were stolen from me by an enemy. I would have lost my heart’s blood first. Oh! my son, can you repulse me, and my whole soul yearning for your love?”

A flush of emotion came into Will’s face at this appeal. He yielded silently to his father’s embraces. Their souls were united in that warm clasp.

Mr. Fitler bowed himself out, as if eager to escape. He left father and son, with clasped hands, seated in earnest and loving conversation.