She was still fully dressed; so all she had to do was to pause before the mirror and give her hair a few pats. Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn. I am Lucilla Froxfield, you must know. He went in and leaned, panting, against one wall. Yes!" she screamed, "these are his father's features! It is—it is my son!" "Mother!" cried Thames; "are you, indeed, my mother?" "I am, indeed—my own sweet boy!" she sobbed, pressing him tenderly to her breast. By this time, Jonathan and the vast mob attending him, had come up, and the place was rendered almost as light as day by the links. Here he was hotly pursued. "Facts convince the most incredulous," answered Jonathan, drily.
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