"Master Charles," she said, "one of your school-mates is in the parlor.
He wants to see you."
"All right. I"ll go right down."
The mistake was quite a natural one, as boys who attended the same private school frequently called for Charles.
Charles went downstairs, and entered the parlor. Ben rose as he entered.
"How are you, Charlie?" said Ben, rising, and offering his hand.
Charles looked in his face with a puzzled expression. It was not one of his school-mates, as he had supposed; but it must be some one that knew him intimately, or he would not have addressed him so familiarly.
"I ought to know you," he said, apologetically; "but I can"t think who it is."
"Don"t you remember your Cousin Ben, Charlie?" asked our hero.
"Ben!" exclaimed Charles, in the greatest astonishment. He looked eagerly in our hero"s face for a moment, then impulsively threw his arms around Ben"s neck, and kissed him.
"I am so glad to see you, Ben," he said. "Where have you been all the time?"
"Then you didn"t forget me, Charlie?" said Ben, returning the embrace.
"No, Ben. I"ve thought of you many and many a time. We used to be such good friends, you know. We will be again,--will we not?"
"I hope so, Charlie. That was one of my reasons for coming back."
"How did you know I was here?"
"I will tell you some time, Charlie; but not now. Is my sister at home?"
"Yes. I will call her. She will be very much surprised. We all thought you--"
"Dead, I suppose."
"Yes; but I always hoped you would come back again."
"Don"t tell Mary who it is. See if she recognizes me."
Summoned by Charles, Mrs. Abercrombie came down to the parlor. She was merely told that a gentleman desired to see her.
When she entered the parlor, Ben rose from his seat.
She looked at him for a moment, and her face lighted up.
"It"s Ben," she said. "O Ben, how could you stay away so long?"
"What, do you remember me, Mary?" asked our hero, in surprise.
"Yes. I knew you by your resemblance to Charles. We always remarked it when you were young boys together."
As the two boys were standing side by side, the resemblance of which she spoke was quite striking. Ben was the larger of the two; but their features were similar, as well as the color of the hair and eyes, and the similarity of their dress completed the illusion. Mrs. Abercrombie surveyed her brother with satisfaction. She had been afraid he would be coa.r.s.e and vulgar after so many years of neglect, if he should ever return; but here he was, to all appearance, a young gentleman of whom she need not feel ashamed.
"Ben must share my room, Cousin Mary," said Charles. "We"ve got so much to say to each other."
"I didn"t know I was to stay," said Ben, smiling.
"You mustn"t leave us again, Ben," said his sister. "Monday you must start for home. Poor mother has mourned for you so long. She will be overjoyed to see you again."
When Mr. Abercrombie came home, his new brother-in-law was introduced to him. He received Ben cordially, and in a way to make him feel at home.
In the course of the morning Mr. Sampson called, and Ben was introduced to him.
"There"s something in your brother"s voice that sounds familiar," he said to Mrs. Abercrombie. "I think I must have met him before."
"He has not been with us for some years," said Mrs. Abercrombie, who did not care to reveal that Ben was a returned prodigal.
"Probably I am deceived," said Mr. Sampson.
Ben, however, knew that Mr. Sampson had good cause to remember him. He was afraid the servant who had brought him his breakfast some months before in the bas.e.m.e.nt might remember him; but there was no danger of that. She never dreamed of a.s.sociating the young gentleman, her mistress"s brother, with the ragged and dirty boy who had brought the valise for Master Charles.
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE PRODIGAL"S RETURN.
On Sunday evening, Ben, in company with his sister, her husband, and Charles, attended a sacred concert in Steinway Hall. As he stepped within the vestibule, he saw two street boys outside, whom he knew well.
Their attire was very similar to that which he had himself worn until the day before. They looked at Ben, but never thought of identifying him with the baggage-smasher with whom they had often bunked together.
"See what it is," thought Ben, "to be well dressed and have fashionable friends."
As he sat in a reserved seat but a little distance from the platform, surrounded by well-dressed people, he was sometimes tempted to doubt whether he was the same boy who a few days before was wandering about the streets, a friendless outcast. The change was so complete and wonderful that he seemed to himself a new boy. But he enjoyed the change. It seemed a good deal pleasanter resting in the luxurious bedchamber, which he shared with Charles at his sister"s house, than the chance accommodations to which he had been accustomed.
On Monday he started for Philadelphia, on his journey home.
We will precede him.
Mrs. Brandon sat in an arm-chair before the fire, knitting. She was not old, but care and sorrow had threaded her dark hair with silver, and on her brow there were traces of a sorrow patiently borne, but none the less deeply felt. She had never recovered from the loss of her son. Her daughter Mary had inherited something of her father"s self-contained, undemonstrative manner; but Ben had been impulsive and affectionate, and had always been very near his mother"s heart. To feel that he had pa.s.sed from her sight was a great sorrow; but it was a greater still not to know where he was. He might be suffering pain or privation; he might have fallen into bad and vicious habits for aught she knew. It would have been a relief, though a sad one, to know that he was dead. But nothing whatever had been heard of him since the letter of which the reader is already aware.
Since Mary"s marriage Mrs. Brandon had been very much alone. Her husband was so taciturn and reserved that he was not much company for her; so she was left very much to her own thoughts, and these dwelt often upon Ben, though six years had elapsed since he left home.
"If I could see him once more," she often said to herself, "I could die in peace."
So Mrs. Brandon was busily thinking of Ben on that Monday afternoon, as she sat knitting before the fire; little thinking that G.o.d had heard her prayer, and that the son whom she so longed to see was close at hand. He was even then coming up the gravelled walk that led to the house.
It may be imagined that Ben"s heart beat with unwonted excitement, as the scenes of his early boyhood once more appeared before him. A thousand boyish memories returned to him, as he trod the familiar street. He met persons whom he knew, but they showed no recognition of him. Six years had wrought too great a change in him.