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the boy's excitement. "You are confident, are
you?"

"Oh, sir, I couldn't be mistaken about that."
Just then Mrs. Brent turned to a gentleman at

her side and spoke. It was Mr. Granville.
"Who is that gentleman?" said Mr. Carter

reflectively. "Do you think Mrs. Brent is married
again?"

"I don't know what to think!" said Philip, bewildered.
"I will tell you what to do. You cannot allow

these people to elude you. Go to the hotel, ask a
direction to the nearest detective office, have a man

detailed to come here directly, and let him find, if
necessary, where your step-mother and her son are

living."
Philip did so, and it was the close of the second

act before he returned. With him was a small, quiet
gentleman, of unpretending appearance, but skilled

as a detective.
"Now," continued Mr. Carter, "you may venture

at any time to go forward and speak to your
friends--if they can be called such."

"I don't think they can, sir. I won't go till the
last intermission."

Phil was forestalled, however. At the close of the
fourth act Jonas happened to look back, and his

glance fell upon Philip.
A scared, dismayed look was on his face as he

clutched his mother's arm and whispered:
"Ma, Philip is sitting just back of us."

Mrs. Brent's heart almost ceased to beat. She
saw that the moment of exposure was probably at

hand.
With pale face she whispered:

"Has he seen us?"
"He is looking right at us."

She had time to say no more. Philip left his seat,
and coming forward, approached the seat of his step-mother.

"How do you do, Mrs. Brent?" he said.
She stared at him, but did not speak.

"How are you, Jonas?" continued our hero.
"My name isn't Jonas," muttered the boy addressed.

Mr. Granville meanwhile had been eagerly looking
at Philip. There appeared to be something in

his appearance which riveted the attention of the
beholder. Was it the voice of nature which spoke

from the striking face of the boy?
"You have made a mistake, boy," said Mrs. Brent,

summoning all her nerve. "I am not the lady you
mention, and this boy does not bear the name of

Jonas."
"What is his name, then?" demanded Philip.

"My name is Philip Granville," answered Jonas
quickly.

"Is it? Then it has changed suddenly,"
answered Phil, in a sarcastic voice. "Six months ago,

when we were all living at Planktown, your name
was Jonas Webb."

"You must be a lunatic!" said Mrs. Brent, with
audacious falsehood.

"My own name is Philip, as you very well know."
"Your name Philip?" exclaimed Mr. Granville,

with an excitement which he found it hard to control.
"Yes, sir; the lady is my step-mother, and this

boy is her son Jonas."
"And you--whose son are you?" gasped Mr.

Granville.
"I don't know, sir. I was left at an early age at a

hotel kept by this lady's husband, by my father,
who never returned."

"Then YOU must be my son!" said Mr. Granville.
"You and not this boy!"

"You, sir? Did you leave me?"
"I left my son with Mr. Brent. This lady led me

to believe that the boy at my side was my son."
Here, then, was a sudden and startling occurrence.

Mrs. Brent fainted. The strain had been too much
for her nerves, strong as they were. Of course she

must be attended to.
"Come with me; I cannot lose sight of you now,

MY SON!" said Mr. Granville. "Where are you
staying?"

"At the Palmer House."
"So am I. Will you be kind enough to order a

carriage."
Mrs. Brent was conveyed to the hotel, and Jonas

followed sullenly.
Of course Philip, Mr. Granville and Mr. Carter left

the theater.
Later the last three held a conference in the parlor.

It took little to convince Mr. Granville that Philip
was his son.

"I am overjoyed!" he said. "I have never been
able to feel toward the boy whom you call Jonas as

a father should. He was very distasteful to me."
"It was an extraordinarydeception on the part of

Mrs. Brent," said Mr. Carter thoughtfully.
"She is a very unprincipled woman," said Mr.

Granville. "Even now that matters have come
right, I find it hard to forgive her."

"You do not know all the harm she has sought
to do your son. The sum of five thousand dollars

was left him by Mr. Brent, and she suppressed the
will."

"Good heavens! is this true?"
"We have the evidence of it."

----
The next day an important interview was held at

the Palmer House. Mrs. Brent was forced to
acknowledge the imposition she had practiced upon

Mr. Granville.
"What could induce you to enter into such a

wicked conspiracy?" asked Mr. Granville, shocked.
"The temptation was strong--I wished to make

my son rich. Besides, I hated Philip."
"It is well your wicked plan has been defeated;

it might have marred my happiness forever."
"What are you going to do with me?" she asked

coolly, but not without anxiety.
It was finally settled that the matter should be

hushed up. Philip wished to give up the sum bequeathed
him by Mr. Brent; but to this Mr. Granville

objected, feeling that it would constitute a
premium on fraud. Besides, Mrs. Brent would have

the residue of the estate, amounting to nearly ten
thousand dollars. Being allowed to do what he

chose with this money, he gave it in equal portions
to Tommy Kavanagh and Mr. Raynor, who had informed

him of the existence of Mr. Brent's will.
Mrs. Brent decided not to go back to Planktown.

She judged that the story of her wickedness would
reach that village and make it disagreeable for her.

She opened a small millinery store in Chicago, and
is doing fairly well. But Jonas is her chief trouble,

as he is lazy and addicted to intemperate habits.
His chances of success and an honorable career are

small.
"How can I spare you, Philip?" said Mr. Carter

regretfully. "I know your father has the best right
to you, but I don't like to give you up."

"You need not," said Mr. Granville. "I propose
to remove to New York; but in the summer I shall

come to my estate near Chicago, and hope, since the
house is large enough, that I may persuade you and

your niece, Mrs. Forbush, to be my guests."
This arrangement was carried out. Mrs. Forbush

and her daughter are the recognized heirs of Mr.
Carter, who is wholly estranged from the Pitkins.

He ascertained, through a detective, that the attack
upon Philip by the man who stole from him the roll

of bills was privately instigated by Mr. Pitkin himself,
in the hope of getting Philip into trouble. Mr.

Carter, thereupon, withdrew his capital from the
firm, and Mr. Pitkin is generally supposed to be on

the verge of bankruptcy. At any rate, his credit is
very poor, and there is a chance that the Pitkins

may be reduced to comparative poverty.
"I won't let Lavinia suffer," said Uncle Oliver;

"if the worst comes to the worst, I will settle a
small income, say twelve hundred dollars, on her,

but we can never be friends."
As Phil grew older--he is now twenty-one--it

seems probable that he and Mr. Carter may be
more closely connected, judging from his gallant

attentions to Julia Forbush, who has developed into
a charming young lady. Nothing would suit Mr.

Carter better, for there is no one who stands higher
in his regard than Philip Granville, the Errand Boy.

FRED SARGENT'S REVENGE.
----

Fred Sargent, upon this day from which
my story dates, went to the head of his Latin

class, in the high school of Andrewsville. The
school was a fine one, the teachers strict, the classes

large, the boys generally gentlemanly, and the
moral tone pervading the whole, of the very best

character.
To lead a class in a school like this was an honor

of which any boy might have been proud; and
Fred, when he heard his name read off at the head

of the roll, could have thrown up his well-worn
Latin grammar, which he happened to have in his

hand just at that moment, and hurrahed. It was
quite a wonder to him afterward that he did not.

As a class, boys are supposed to be generous. I
really don't know whether they deserve to be considered

so or not, but some four or five only in
this large school envied Fred. The rest would

probably have hurrahed with him; for Fred was a
"capital good fellow," and quite a favorite.

"Bully for you!" whispered Ned Brown, his
right-hand neighbor; but Ned was instantly disgraced,

the eye of the teacher catching the words
as they dropped from his lips.

When school was over several of the boys rushed
to the spot where Fred--his cap in his hand, and

his dark hair blowing about every way--was
standing.

"I say," said James Duncan, "I thought you
would get it. You've worked like a Trojan and

you deserve it."


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