Old Mr. Kennedy seemed to have lost his powers of speech. He gazed at his son for a few seconds in silence--then suddenly threw his arms around him and engaged in a species of wrestle which he intended for an embrace.
"O Charley, my boy! "you've come at last--God bless you! Let's look at you. Quite changed: six feet; no, not quite changed--the old nose; black as an Indian. O Charley, my dear boy! I've been waiting for you for months; why did you keep me so long, eh? Hang it, where's my handkerchief?" At tis last exclamation Mr. Kennedy's feelings quite overcame him; his full heart overflowed at his eyes, so that when he tried to look at his son, Charley appeared partly magnified and partly broken up into fragments. Fumbling in his pocket for the missing handkerchief, which he did not find
