his entire satisfaction, so he dismissed Daniel on some errand. Then he
questioned the stranger, as to his name, his place of residence, the
year and the month and all circumstances surrounding that dreadful
night, in minutest detail.

"Tell me," said he, "did your dog wear a collar?"

"O yes," said the old man, "it was made of red leather, and engraved on
a metal plate was his name Rover, and the letters J. M. S., which stand
for my name, Joseph Martin Swift."

"Now," said Mrs. Trent, "will you describe the cradle?"

"Very well," said the man, "it was made of pine wood. The body was
painted blue and it had a red canopy."

Mr. and Mrs. Trent looked deeply into the old man's eyes, and found in
his face, looking through the wrinkles which deep sorrow and care had
chiseled there, a remarkable resemblance to their adopted son.

"I have no further doubt," said Mr. Trent, "that the son who thirteen
years ago, as a tender babe, floated in its cradle down the Rhine, was
saved from the flood, and lives today."

"How, what?" cried the man in joyful astonishment. "Oh, where is he?
Where is he? Lead me to him at once."

"You have already seen him," said Mr. Trent. "The young man who brought
you here is your son."