The other man had listened intently, and when the story was finished
he sat silent for a time, as if considering and pondering over what he
had heard. Then, without warning, he announced quietly:

"I am Anson Jones."

Uncle John fairly gasped for breath.

"_You_ Anson Jones!" he exclaimed. Then, with plausible suspicion he
added: "I myself saw that you are registered as C.B. Jones."

"It is the same thing," was the reply. "My name is Collanson--but my
family always called me 'Anson', when I had a family--and by that name
I was best known in the mining camps. That is what deceived you."

"But--dear me!--I don't believe Myrtle knows her uncle's name is
Collanson."

"Probably not. Her mother, sir, my sister, was my only remaining
relative, the only person on earth who cared for me--although I
foolishly believed another did. I worked for success as much on
Kitty's account--Kitty was Myrtle's mother--as for my own sake. I
intended some day to make her comfortable and happy, for I knew her
husband's death had left her poor and friendless. I did not see her
for years, nor write to her often; it was not my way. But Kitty always
knew I loved her."

He paused and sat silent a moment. Then he resumed, in his quiet, even
tones: