melancholy this spring," the old lady replied. "He is
afraid he has committed the unpardonable sin."

The old folks and our caller left us finishing our breakfast, and I
recollect that for some time none of us spoke. Our recent unseemly
hilarity had vanished.

"What do you suppose Sylvester's done?" Halstead asked at last, with a
glance at Theodora; then, as she did not seem inclined to hazard
conjectures on that subject, he addressed himself to Addison, who was
trying to extract a second cup of coffee from the big coffeepot.

"You know everything, Addison, or think you do. What is this
unpardonable sin?"

"Cousin Halstead," Addison replied, not relishing the manner in which he
had put the question, "you are likely enough to find that out for
yourself if you don't mend some of your bad ways here."

Halstead flamed up and muttered something about the self-righteousness
of a certain member of the family; but Theodora then remarked tactfully
that, as nearly as she could understand it, the unpardonable sin is
something we do that can never be forgiven.

Some months before Elder Witham had preached a sermon in which he had
set forth the doctrine of predestination and the unpardonable sin, but I
have to confess that none of us could remember what he had said.

"I think it's in the Bible," Theodora added, and, going into the
sitting-room, she fetched forth grandmother Ruth's concordance Bible and
asked Addison to help her find the references. Turning first to one
text, then to another, for some minutes they read the passages aloud,
but did not find anything conclusive. The discussion had put me in a
rather disturbed state of mind in regard to several things I had done at
one time and another, and I suppose I looked sober, for I saw Addison
regarding me curiously. He continued to glance at me, clearly with
intention, and shook his head gloomily several times until Ellen noticed
it and exclaimed in my behalf, "Well, I guess he stands as good a chance
as you do!"

Two hours or so later the old Squire and grandmother returned,
thoughtfully silent; they did not tell us what had occurred, and it was
not until a good many years later, when Theodora, Halstead and Addison
had left the old farm, that I learned what had happened that morning at
the Sylvester place. The old Squire and I were driving home from the
village when something brought the incident to his mind, and, since I
was now old enough to understand, he related wha