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“My good man,” said Alfred, “your extraordinary kindness to me exceeds all measure. I cannot understand how I should merit such consideration from you.”

“But,” said Mr. Vosky, almost choked with emotion, “I find nothing extraordinary or bountiful in my acts. It is my duty, an act of gratitude.”

“I fail to understand you,” said Alfred. “I cannot remember the slightest favor that I have ever proffered you. I never saw you before, and what is more, I never heard of you in my life.”

“Never?” cried Mr. Vosky. “Then listen to what I have to say. My entire fortune I owe to you. All my success I lay at your door.”

Alfred looked at him in astonishment and shook his head.

“Did you never help a poor boy, by giving him fifty pounds?”

“Just now I don’t remember ever having done any poor boy such a charity.”

“Now,” said Vosky, “perhaps you may remember a nightingale that you wished to have brought to your mother’s garden. You will recall that poor stable-boy who managed it for you.”

“Oh, yes,” said Alfred, “I remember the boy very well. He was a poor, worthy, ambitious lad, named Michael Warden. The last I heard of him was when he went out into the world as a wheelwright, to make his fortune.”

“So, you do remember him. Well, that boy Michael was none other than myself. Now I am the owner of a large factory, besides being financial adviser to the Czar. I had my name legally changed to Vosky. I was that stable-boy, that wheelwright.”

“You!” cried Alfred, filled with admiration and astonishment. He sprang forward and embraced his benefactor. “But why didn’t you tell me all this at first?”

“That was impossible,” said Vosky. “It would have taken too long to explain; and my business affairs were so pressing, and you were so exhausted, that you could not have listened to a detailed account. I deferred it for a more quiet, restful time, when I could express to you my thanks. I saw that you did not recognize me, and I, too, would never have recognized you had you not said that day as you sank in the snow, ‘Give my love to my mother and sisters and say that Alfred Banford fell in the service of his country.’ Let us be thankful that we have been brought together, and that the opportunity has been afforded me to show you that I am not ungrateful. I cannot express to you the joy it gives me to see you, and to be able to serve you.”

Mr. Vosky then related some of the events of his life. How he had visited the principal cities of Europe; and how he had studied under the best men, in order to make himself proficient in his line of work. Having heard that many Londoners were competing for the construction of carriages for Russia, he had hastily sent in his estimate. The work was accorded to him, and in a few years time he had amassed a large fortune. He had also opened a large wagon factory, and as soon as the war broke out with France, he had received orders from the Czar to supply the Russian army with additional powder wagons. The government had been as pleased with his promptness as with his honesty. Later, he had received the title of “Imperial Financial Adviser.”

Alfred listened earnestly, and said: “God blessed you with excellent talents. Even as a child you showed genius. You certainly made good use of your gifts. I see from all that you have told me, that you were always ready to embrace an opportunity; that you worked with diligence, honesty and system, and that you began and ended all your work with an honest purpose. God, upon whom you relied, has blessed all your undertakings.”

“That is true,” said Mr. Vosky. “The fortune which I have accumulated gives me pleasure; for with it I can help the needy. Many a poor lad, like myself, have I (in memory of my own childhood) taken by the hand and helped to become a man of standing in the world.”

Mr. Vosky became silent, and after a long pause said, “I sorely regret that my poor father did not live, to see how valuable was the good training which he gave me, and that I was not permitted to make some return to him for his love and devotion.”

On the following day, Mr. Vosky and his guests started on their journey to St. Petersburg. The route lay along a beautiful section of the country; and so, with entertaining conversation, they reached their destination before they had expected.

Mr. Vosky’s home was a beautiful place. His family came forward with warm greetings, and were introduced to Alfred Banford. The children could hardly understand how any man who looked so shabby and worn could ever have been their father’s benefactor. The father, however, explained to them that the trials and tribulations of warfare, through which Alfred had passed, accounted for his appearance; and they were moved to sympathy for his sufferings.

Mr. Vosky had his tailor furnish Alfred with a complete outfit, suitable to his station.

Alfred remained with the Vosky family until the following spring, when they escorted him to the wharf. Mr. Vosky gave him a large roll of bills, for which Alfred thanked him, and said: “I will send you a check for this amount as soon as I reach home.”

“Oh, no,” said Mr. Vosky; “rather give the money to some poor boy. What we give to the poor always returns to us.”

With many adieus and handshakes, Alfred departed; and the Vosky family continued waving their handkerchiefs until the vessel was lost to view.