I, you understand, was
only an after-thought consequent upon his success. He came to
California upon this pilgrimage two years ago. He had no
recollection, so they tell me, by which he could recognize this
erring son; and at first his search was wild, profitless, and
almost hopeless. But by degrees, and with a persistency that
seemed to increase with his hopelessness, he was rewarded by
finding some clew to him at--at--at--
Sandy (excitedly). At Poker Flat?
Miss Mary. Ah, perhaps you know the story,--at Poker Flat. He
traced him to the Mission of San Carmel.
Sandy. Yes, miss: go on.
Miss Mary. He was more successful than he deserved, perhaps. He
found him. I see you know the story.
Sandy. Found him! Found him! Miss, did you say found him?
Miss Mary. Yes, found him. And today Alexander Morton, the
reclaimed prodigal, is part of the household I am invited to join.
So you see, Mr. Sandy, there is still hope. What has happened to
him is only a promise to you. Eh! Mr. Sandy--what is the matter?
Are you ill? Your exertion this morning, perhaps. Speak to me!
Gracious heavens, he is going mad! No! No! Yes--it cannot be--it
is--he HAS broken his promise: he is drunk again.
Sandy (rising, excited and confused). Excuse me, miss, I am a
little onsartain HERE (pointing to his head). I can't--I
disremember--what you said jus' now: ye mentioned the name o' that
prodigal that was found.
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