’ ‘No. 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. I consented. When she confessed all this to her charge, telling the now grown up babe that there was no hope in the world of establishing any claim, she very soon discovered her mistake. Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. Sheppard, averting her face to hide her tears.
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