gently
upon his arm.

But Thursday Smith did not know John Merrick very well. The little
gentleman had silently listened, observing meanwhile the demeanor of the
accused, and now he smiled in his pleasant, whimsical way and caught
Smith's hand in both his own.

"Man, man!" he cried, "you're misjudging both me and yourself, I don't
know this fellow Melville. You don't know him, either. But I do know
Thursday Smith, who has won my confidence and by his manly acts, and
I'll stand by him through thick and thin!"

"I am Harold Melville--the gambler--the confidence man."

"You're nothing of the sort, you're just Thursday Smith, and no more
responsible for Harold Melville than I am."

"Hooray!" exclaimed Patsy Doyle enthusiastically. "Uncle's right,
Thursday. You're our friend, and the mainstay of the _Millville Daily
Tribune_. We shall not allow you to desert us just because you've
discovered that your--your--ancestor--wasn't quite respectable."

"That's it, exactly," asserted Beth. "It's like hearing a tale of an
ancestor, Thursday, or of some member of your family who lived before
you. You cannot be responsible, in any way, for another man's
wickedness."

"As I look at it," said Louise reflectively, "you are just two years
old, Thursday, and innocent of any wrongdoing before that day you first
found yourself."

"There's no use our considering Melville at all," added Uncle John
cheerfully. "I'm sorry we ever heard of him, except that in one way it
clears up a mystery. Thursday Smith, we like you and trust you. Do not
doubt yourself because of this tale. I'll vouch for your fairness and
integrity. Forget Melville, who has never really existed so far as any
of us are concerned; be yourself, and count on our friendship and
regard, which Thursday Smith has fairly won."

Hetty was crying softly, her cheek laid against Thursday's sleeve. The
man stood as if turned to stone, but his cheeks were flushed, his eyes
sparkling, and his head proudly poised.

Fogerty lighted a fresh cigarette, watching the scene with an
imperturbable smile.

Suddenly Smith awoke to life. He half turned, looked wonderingly at
Hetty, and then folded her thin form in his arms and pressed a kiss on
her forehead.

Fogerty coughed. Uncle John jerked out his handkerchief and blew his
nose like a bugle call.

The major's eyes were moist, for the old soldier was sympathetic as a
child. But Patsy, a little catch in her voice, impulsively put her a