I saw Frank myself, when he came for the little
twins. Though I was then quite a lad, I well
remember being highly delighted by hearing him
tell how nicely he and Mary had served Slator.

Frank had so completely disguised or changed
his appearance that his little sister did not know
him, and would not speak till he showed their
mother's likeness; the sight of which melted her
to tears,--for she knew the face. Frank might
have said to her



"'O, Emma! O, my sister, speak to me!
Dost thou not know me, that I am thy brother?
Come to me, little Emma, thou shalt dwell
With me henceforth, and know no care or want.'
Emma was silent for a space, as if
'Twere hard to summon up a human voice."
Frank and Mary's mother was my wife's own
dear aunt.

After this great diversion from our narrative,
which I hope dear reader, you will excuse, I shall
return at once to it.

My wife was torn from her mother's embrace
in childhood, and taken to a distant part of the
country. She had seen so many other children