on his lips for a moment, then went on--"the
one thing I've wanted was a son. It seemed to me there was nothing
else in the world would make up to me for that lack. I had money more
than enough, and health and friends; but I wanted a boy. When you came
I said to Sue: 'Let's keep him a while just to see how it would feel.'
It's been worth while, Sandy; you have done me credit. It almost
seemed as if the Lord didn't mean me to be disappointed, after all.
And to-day, when Mr. Moseley said you ought to have a year or two at
the big university, I said: 'Why not? He's just like my own. I'll send
him this year and next, and then he can come home and be a comfort to
me all the rest of my days.' That's what I was sitting up to tell you,
Sandy; but now--"

"And ye sha'n't be disappointed!" cried Sandy. "I'll go anywhere you
say, do anything you wish. Only you wouldn't be asking me to stay
here?"

"Not now, Sandy; not for a while."

"Never!--so long as she's here. I'll never bring me sorrow between her
and the sun again-so help me, Heaven! And if the Lord gives me
strength, I'll never see her face again, so long as I live!"

"Go to bed, boy; go to bed. You are tired out. We will ship you off to
the university next week."

"Can't I be going to-morrow? Friday, then? I'd never dare trust meself
over the week."

"Friday, then. But mind, no more prancing to-night; we must both go to
bed."

Neither of them did so, however. Sandy went to his room and sat in
his window, watching a tiny light that flickered, far across the
valley, in the last bend of the river before it left the town. His
muscles were tense, his nerves a-tingle, as he strained his eyes in
the darkness to keep watch of the beacon. It was the last glimpse of
home to a sailor who expected never to return.

Down in the sitting-room the judge was lost in the pages of a worn old
copy of Tom Moore. He fingered the pages with a tenderness of other
days, and lingered over the forgotten lines with a half-quizzical,
half-sad smile on his lips. For he had been a lover once, and Sandy's
romance stirred dead leaves in his heart that sent up a faint perfume
of memory.

"Yes," he mused half aloud; "I marked that one too:

"Be it bliss to remember that thou wert the star
That arose on his darkness and guided him home."

CHAPTER XIX

THE TRIALS OF AN ASSISTANT POSTMASTER

By all laws of mercy the post-master in a small town should be old and
mentally ne