displeased. "You did wrong, George, after my
particular orders."

"Why, Father, I am sure it was of no importance which of us did it.
That was only a trifle, I am sure. I told Frank the name, and he
knows where Mr. Reid lives. I should not think you would blame me
for this--"

"I do blame you very much. You should not have left this to Frank. I
charged you to be very careful. This was your own duty, and you
should have performed it yourself. Your neglect will most likely
cost me two hundred dollars, for I shall send the money to Mr. Reid;
he of course is not to lose it. You cannot be sure that Frank
directed the letter correctly; he is not used to the work."

George began to feel that it was not a trifle to leave another
person to direct a letter of importance; he felt very sorry at the
thought of losing his father's money. Poor fellow! he had a worse
pain than this to endure.

The next morning, when the letters came from the post office, there
was one from Mr. Reid. The missing letter had at last arrived, and
the two hundred dollars were in it. The letter had been misdirected.
There was a mistake in the name of the place. The letter had been
sent to Washington, whence he had just received it, as the person
whose office it is to read these letters knew him personally, and so
could correct the mistake. He then related the sad story of the
clerk and his poor mother. He added that he went to the poor woman's
house the very day that he left the town, intending to satisfy his
mind upon the question of her son's guilt, of which he began to
doubt--intending, if he found the young man innocent, to take him
back into the office, and if not, to try to induce him to restore
the money, and go, to recover his character, to some other place, to
which he would have helped him to remove. He was too late. He found
the house empty. "I pity the person," he said, "who misdirected that
letter--he was the unconscious cause of the ruin of two excellent
beings. We may blame the young man's violence, and may call him
foolish and passionate; yet it was a deep hatred of even the
appearance of sin and shame that made him do so mad an action as to
enlist in a wicked war."

Mr. Pratt now read this letter to his son. George covered his face
to hide his shame and sorrow; his heart was ready to break with
agony. He groaned aloud. He spoke not one word.

George was suffering in silence the bitterest of all pains which a
good mind can endure,--t