"Sidney, I hope now I have
a right to ask if you know who is your father?"
"I believe him to be dead."
"Dead!" there was a note of surprise in the word.
"I know not even his name."
"It is all very strange," said Polly. In a moment she added, "I
hope you will forgive my mother if she seemed to doubt you."
"I forgive all," said the young man. "I know it was hard to
believe me innocent."
"And impossible to believe you guilty. She was only waiting for
more light."
The widow and her two boys came out to meet them.
"Mother, behold this big man! He is to be my husband." The girl
looked up at him proudly.
"And my son?" said Mrs. Vaughn, with a smile, as she kissed him.
"You've lost no time."
"Oh! I didn't intend to give up so soon," said Polly, "but--but
the supper would have been ruined."
"It's now on the table," said Mrs. Vaughn.
"I've news for you," said Polly, as they were sitting down. "Tunk
has reformed."
"He must have been busy," said Trove, "and he's ruined his epitaph."
"His epitaph?"
"Yes; that one Darrel wrote for him: 'Here lies Tunk. O Grave!
where is thy victory?'"
"Tunk has one merit: he never deceived any one but himself," said
the widow.
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