mpathy for him now I know the sad
story of his life."

"I shall certainly give him careful attention," answered the doctor,
"but he has little strength to build on. Has his work been hard?"

"Not since Fred Worthington has been in the mill with him. Fred, I am
informed, did much of the boy's work to help him along."

"I have heard a good deal of praise bestowed upon Fred for defending the
little fellow from abuse," remarked the doctor.

"And it is justly due him, too. He is a brave and manly fellow--is
Fred."

"I am glad to hear you speak well of him; but I thought he was a ruined
boy, and guilty of several damaging charges."

"They are all groundless, I believe," replied Mr. Farrington earnestly;
"and I am surprised to find that you fall in with the general opinion
without inquiring as to his guilt or innocence."

"There isn't a chance for much doubt about that drunken affair, as he
came to my house thoroughly intoxicated, and I took care of him for a
time and then carried him home. Did you know of that?"

"Yes; I knew of it some time ago; but do you know how he came to go to
your house? That's the point to get at!"

"No, I do not. It has been a mystery to me ever since, but I never felt
like asking him about it."

"You would, perhaps, be surprised to know who was the means of getting
him drunk, and that the same fellow led him in that state to your door,
purposely to disgrace him."

"You astonish me, Mr. Farrington. But tell me about it; perhaps I have
judged the boy hastily. Who was the culprit?"

"I will tell you, with the understanding that you shall not repeat it,
for it's Fred's wish that it shall not become known until the young
scoundrel shows his own guilt by telling it."

"I promise to say nothing to any one."

"The culprit was Matthew De Vere."

"Who? Matthew De Vere! Impossible!"

"No, not impossible at all. Indeed, I haven't the slightest doubt of it.
I have the story straight, and know from Dave all the circumstances that
led to the result."

It is not strange that the doctor was surprised and annoyed at this
unexpected revelation, and it had more than ordinary significance to
him, also, for this reason: he was fully aware of Matthew's decided
preference for the society of his daughter Nellie. Of course, it was
but a boyish fancy at most; but what might not grow out of it? Did he
not, in fact, during his own school-days, form an attachment for one who
afterwards became his wife?

I