The album had belonged to Dora's mother, and the verses were all written in unformed, childish characters.

There were also some drawings, and among these one of a small house and a well, with a man standing near it, particularly attracted Hunne's attention, and he took the book in his own hands, and began turning the leaves.
"Hallo!" he exclaimed with a knowing look, as he took out a piece of paper that lay folded between the leaves; "Mamma has one like this; it belongs to Lili; the one I am going to America to find." Julius laughed aloud.

"What in the world are you chattering to Dora about now, Hunne ?" But his mother glanced, quickly at the little boy as she caught his words, took the paper from his hand and read what was written there.
Great tears fell from her eyes as she read; the memory of long past hours of her happy childhood rose before her, clear and distinct, and almost overpowered her, Her own mother's face, and all the sights and sounds of childhood! It was the other half of her own poem that she held in her hand, the half that had been kept by her dearly loved friend.

She gave it silently to her husband; she could not trust her voice to read it aloud.
The children watched her curiously as she took the other half from her notebook, and laid the two bits of yellow faded paper side by side.

They made a sheet of the usual size of old-fashioned letter paper.