nto the little parlor, which was nicely furnished in mahogany
and horsehair. And it had back of it a bit of a dining room, with a
little porch overlooking the back yard. Mrs. Brice thought of the dark
and stately high-ceiled dining-room she had known throughout her married
days: of the board from which a royal governor of Massachusetts Colony
had eaten, and some governors of the Commonwealth since. Thank God, she
had not to sell that, nor the Brice silver which had stood on the high
sideboard with the wolves and the shield upon it. The widow's eyes
filled with tears. She had not hoped again to have a home for these
things, nor the father's armchair, nor the few family treasures that
were to come over the mountains.

The gentleman, with infinite tact, said little, but led the way through
the rooms. There were not many of them. At the door of the kitchen he
stopped, and laid his hand kindly on Stephen's shoulder:-- "Here we may
not enter. This is your department, ma'am," said he.

Finally, as they stood without waiting for the gentleman, who insisted
upon locking the door, they observed a girl in a ragged shawl hurrying
up the street. As she approached them, her eyes were fixed upon the
large house next door. But suddenly, as the gentleman turned, she caught
sight of him, and from her lips escaped a cry of relief. She flung open
the gate, and stood before him.

"Oh, Mr. Brinsmade," she cried, "mother is dying. You have done so much
for us, sir,--couldn't you come to her for a little while? She thought
if she might see you once more, she would die happy." The voice was
choked by a sob.

Mr. Brinsmade took the girl's hand in his own, and turned to the lady
with as little haste, with as much politeness, as he had shown before.

"You will excuse me, ma'am," he said, with his hat in his hand.

The widow had no words to answer him. But she and her son watched him
as he walked rapidly down the street, his arm in the girl's, until they
were out of sight. And then they walked home silently.

Might not the price of this little house be likewise a piece of the
Brinsmade charity?

CHAPTER XI. THE INVITATION

Mr. Eliphalet Hopper, in his Sunday-best broadcloth was a marvel of
propriety. It seemed to Stephen that his face wore a graver expression
on Sunday when he met him standing on Miss Crane's doorstep, picking
the lint from his coat. Stephen's intention was not to speak. But he
remembered what the Judge had said to