uick shudder. "No, Susan, we are--"

He hesitated, and a big tear rolled down his furrowed cheek.

"We are what, Jacob?"

"We are going to the poorhouse!"

"O God! I thought so!" fell from the poor wife's lips, as she covered
her face with her hands. "I have thought so, and I have tried to
school myself to the thought; but my poor heart will not bear it!"

"Do not give up," softly urged the old man, laying his hand upon her
arm. "It makes but little difference to us now. We have not long to
remain on earth, and let us not wear out our last days in useless
repinings. Come, come."

"But when--when--shall we go?"

"Now--to-day."

"Then God have mercy on us!"

"He will," murmured Jacob.

That old couple sat for a while in silence. When they were aroused
from their painful thoughts it was by the stopping of a wagon in front
of the door. A man entered the room where they sat. He was the keeper
of the poorhouse.

"Come, Mr. Manfred," he said, "the selectmen have managed to crowd you
into the poorhouse. The wagon is at the door, and you can get ready as
soon as possible."

Jacob Manfred had not calculated the strength he should need for this
ordeal. There was a coldness in the very tone and manner of the man
who had come for him that went like an ice-bolt to his heart, and with
a deep groan he sank back in his seat.

"Come, be in a hurry," impatiently urged the keeper.

At that moment a heavy covered carriage drove up to the door.

"Is this the house of Jacob Manfred?"

This question was asked by a man who entered from the carriage. He was
a kind-looking man, about forty years of age.

"That is my name," said Jacob.

"Then they told me truly," uttered the new-comer. "Are you from the
almshouse?" he continued, turning toward the keeper.

"Yes."

"Then you may return. Jacob Manfred goes to no poorhouse while I
live."

The keeper gazed inquisitively into the face of the stranger, and left
the house.

"Don't you remember me?" exclaimed the new-comer, grasping the old man
by the hand.

"I can not call you to my memory now."

"Do you remember Lucius Williams?"

"Williams?" repeated Jacob, starting up and gazing earnestly into the
stranger's face. "Yes, Jacob Manfred--Lucius Williams, that little
boy whom, thirty years ago, you saved from the house of correction;
that poor boy whom you kindly took from the bonds of the law, and
placed on board your own vessels."

"And are you--"

"Yes--yes, I am