r. I supposed you, also,
knew this, and so would not break the silence my angry pride
imposed for the sake of a mere empty box. Do not blame poor
Nate--he is scarce blameworthy, and he has loved me blindly all
his life. So would he have loved his austere father if he had
had a chance. And of all the lessons my life has brought me
this I hold the highest--that love is best.

"I think of Elizabeth, sweetly resting under the turf at home.
I think of my little son, and pray our Heavenly Father to be
kinder to him than his earthly one has been. I think of my
mother, whose heart I broke, and, dying, I cry--God bless her.

"VERPLANCK."

When the clear old voice quavered into silence there was not a dry eye
left among the enrapt listeners. There was not a heart of man or woman
that did not feel a sting at its own unjust judgment of the past. Nor
was there one, either old or young, who did not pity rather than blame
the poor sinner who had "loved much."

Some one was seen to go softly away. It was Squire Pettijohn, forgetful
of his dire threat against any son of man who dared to "tramp" God's
earth, unwarranted. Squire Pettijohn, with head bowed, heart humbled,
who had always branded another man's son as "thief," only to find that
self-confessed offender the child of his own home. Nobody sought to
hinder him. In silence let him suffer his own shame--that would be
punishment sufficient.

Madam sat so long with the opened box and letter in her lap, and with
her eyes staring so at vacancy, that Katharine could not bear it. Nor
could she bear that Monty should cry, as he was doing in that dreadful,
quiet way. Boys shouldn't cry--it meant something terrible when they
did. Besides, why should he now, anyway? The knowledge of his father's
death was nothing new; and here was all the mystery explained, and the
suspicion which had clouded his name completely removed.

"Why, Monty, darling, splendid Monty! Don't! Don't! You ought to be the
gladdest boy who ever lived. See. Look at your grandmother. She isn't
saying anything, and there is sorrow in her face, but there's wonderful
pride in it, too. Why, think, boy, think! If for years and years you had
thought somebody you loved was bad and then suddenly found they were
good, after all, would you cry? No, indeed. Anyhow, I shouldn't. I
should just hip-hip-hurrah! Three cheers for your father, that all can
talk of and love now, and