"It is his!" he exclaimed. "It is Ralph's! He wore it that day. Where
did you get it? Where did you get it, I say?"

Craft did not reply. He was searching in his hand-bag for something
else. Finally he drew out a child's cap, a quaint little thing of
velvet and lace, and laid it on the table.

This, too, was grasped by Burnham with eager fingers, and looked upon
with loving eyes.

"Do you still think me wild?" said the old man, "or do you believe now
that I have some knowledge of what I am talking about?"

His listener did not answer the question. His mind seemed to be far
away. He said, finally:--

"There--there was a locket, a little gold locket. It had his father's
picture in it. Did--did you find that?"

The visitor smiled, opened the wallet again, and produced the locket.
The father took it in his trembling hands, looked on it very tenderly
for a moment, and then his eyes became flooded with tears.

"It was his," he said at last, very gently; "they were all his; tell
me now--where did you get them?"

"I came by them honestly, Mr. Burnham, honestly; and I have kept them
faithfully. But I will tell you the whole story. I think you are ready
now to hear it with attention, and to consider it fairly."