respected teacher of the Glendale grammar-school. So she found herself
at the end of twenty-five years of continuous service. It did occur to
her as a delightful possibility that the authorities or scholars or
somebody would observe this quarter-centennial anniversary in a
suitable manner, and a vision danced before her mind's eye of a
surprise-party bearing a pretty piece of silver or a clock as a
memorial of her life-work. But the date came and passed without
comment from any source, and Marion's sense of humor made the best of
it by drinking her own health on the evening of the day in question,
and congratulating herself that she loved her work and was happy. At
that supper there was no guest save Jimmy's tintype, which she fetched
from the mantelpiece and leaned against the cake-basket on the table.
Jimmy stood now not only for himself, but for a little army of
struggling souls upon whom her patient intelligence had been freely
lavished.

Of course, Jimmy was found. Miss Willis had always felt sure that he
would be. But ten years more had slipped away before he was brought to
light. One day she discovered his name in the newspaper as a rising
political constellation, and she was convinced, without the least
particle of evidence to support her credulity, that the James in
question was her Jimmy. His name had suddenly become prominent in the
political firmament on account of his resolute conduct as the mayor of
a Western city. The public had been impressed by his strength and
pluck and executive ability, working successfully against a gang of
municipal cutthroats, and his name was being paraded over the country.

"I've half a mind to write to him and discover if it's he," Miss
Willis said to herself. "How surprised he would be to receive a postal
card 'Are you my Jimmy?'" But somehow she refrained. She did not wish