d, and he crammed some money hard in Silas's
eagerly outstretched hand. "Thank you for your hospitality, Mr.
Berry," said Thomas Payne, his face all flaming and his eyes
flashing, but his voice quite steady. "I hope you'll have as good
luck selling your cherries next year."

There was a little exulting titter over the sarcasm among the girls,
in which Rebecca did not join; then the party kept on. The indignant
clamor waxed loud in a moment; they scarcely waited for the old man's
back to be turned on his return to the tavern.

But the young people, crying out all together against this last
unparalleled meanness, had not reached the foot of the hill, where
some of them separated, when they heard the quick pound of running
feet behind them and a hoarse voice calling on Thomas Payne to stop.
They all turned, and William came up, pale and breathing hard. "What
did you pay him?" he asked of Thomas Payne.

"See here, William, we all know you had nothing to do with it,"
Thomas cried out.

"What did you pay him?" William repeated, in a stern gasp.

"It's all right."

"You tell me what you paid him."

Thomas Payne blushed all over his handsome boyish face. He half
whispered the amount to William, although the others knew it as well
as he.

William pulled out his purse, and counted out some money with
trembling fingers. "Take it, for God's sake!" said he, and Thomas
Payne took it. "We all know that you knew nothing about it," he said
again. The others chimed in with eager assent, but William gave his
head a shake, as if he shook off water, and broke away from them all,
and pelted up the hill with his heart so bitterly sore that it seemed
as if he trod on it at every step.

A voice was crying out behind him, but he never heeded. There were
light, hurrying steps after him, and a soft flutter of girlish
skirts, but he never looked away from his own self until Rebecca
touched his arm. Then he looked around with a start and a great
blush, and jerked his arm away.

But Rebecca followed him up quite boldly, and caught his arm again,
and looked up in his face. "Don't you feel bad," said she; "don't you
feel bad. You aren't to blame."

"Isn't he my father?"

"You aren't to blame for that."

"Disgrace comes without blame," said William, and he moved on.

Rebecca kept close to his side, clinging to his arm. "It's your
father's way," said she. "He's honest, anyway. Nobody can say he
isn't honest."

"It depends upon what