law better than the drug business.

He expected a vacancy in his office soon; in the meantime he had offered
to read a little law with John in the evenings. John had been more than
pleased, for circumstances had placed him in the drug store, not his own
inclinations.

And now he had blotted out all his hopes for the future, and perhaps
killed his friend and benefactor at the same time, all because he had
lacked manliness enough to cure himself of his small and odious
besetting sin.

John wandered like one distraught through the freezing slush and mud of
the country roads that night, feeling no fatigue and no discomfort. His
brain was on fire with horror and self-condemnation.

It never occurred to him to ask himself how the law would look upon his
carelessness; he only knew that he was ruined and disgraced, and that he
had brought a crushing sorrow upon those who had trusted him and treated
him as a good and welcome friend.

When daylight dawned upon John Hampden's haggard eyes he found himself
upon his own doorstep, his clothes smeared with frozen mud, his body
shivering and quaking in the grip of a dreadful chill.

He had walked for hours at a breakneck pace, and he was so exhausted
that he could hardly lift his hand to fumble at the door-knob.

His aunt opened the door for him. Her eyes were red, as if she had been
crying. She had been kneeling by a chair in the corner of the kitchen.

"John, John!" she cried, opening her arms wide.

"Don't touch me!" said John, in a hoarse voice. "You don't know what I
am--what I have done, Aunt Martha."

"I know it all, John," said Aunt Martha, the tears gushing from her
pitying eyes. "How you must have suffered, my dear, dear boy! The
squire's daughter and niece were here at three o'clock this morning.
They thought you might be worried a good deal about it. The squire will
be all right in a few days."

Without a word, John laid his tired head on Aunt Martha's motherly bosom
and wept like a child. So pillowed, he fell asleep, as he had done so
many a time in years gone by.

John Hampden learned a lesson that night which he never forgot. He is
twice eighteen years old now, and his life has brought him much honor
and prosperity.

If he has one fault, people say, it is that he is almost too inflexibly
exact in all his dealings--almost too conscientious and fearful lest he
should make a mistake, and so do another an injury, however slight. But,
they add, the world woul