permost in his mind; and when he next spoke,
gratitude for the help that had been given to Mary in her last sore
distress was the one predominant emotion, which strove roughly to
express itself to Mrs. Peck over in these words:

"Is there any living soul you care about that a trifle of money would
do a little good to?" he asked, with such abrupt eagerness that she was
quite startled by it.

"Lord bless me!" she exclaimed, "what do you mean? What has that got to
do with your poor sister, or Mr. Blyth?"

"It's got this to do," burst out Matthew, starting to his feet, as the
struggling gratitude within him stirred body and soul both together;
"you turned to and helped Mary when she hadn't nobody else in the world
to stand by her. She was always father's darling--but father couldn't
help her then; and I was away on the wrong side of the sea, and couldn't
be no good to her neither. But I'm on the right side, now; and if
there's any friends of yours, north, south, east, or west, as would be
happier for a trifle of money, here's all mine; catch it, and give it
'em." (He tossed his beaver-skin roll, with the bank-notes in it, into
Mrs. Peckover's lap.) "Here's my two hands, that I dursn't take a holt
of yours with, for fear of hurting you again; here's my two hands that
can work along with any man's. Only give 'em something to do for you,
that's all! Give 'em something to make or mend, I don't care what--"

"Hush! hush!" interposed Mrs. Peckover; "don't be so dreadful noisy,
there's a good man! or you'll wake my brother up stairs. And, besides,
where's the use to make such a stir about what I done for your sister?
Anybody else would have took as kindly to her as I did, seeing what
distress she was in, poor soul! Here," she continued, handing him back
the beaver-skin roll; "here's your money, and thank you for the offer
of it. Put it up safe in your pocket again. We manage to keep our heads
above water, thank God! and don't want to do no better than that. Put
it up in your pocket again, and then I'll make bold to ask you for
something else."

"For what?" inquired Mat, looking her eagerly in the face.

"Just for this: that you'll promise not to take little Mary from Mr.
Blyth. Do, pray do promise me you won't."

"I never thought to take her away," he answered. "Where should I take
her to? What can a lonesome old vagabond, like me, do for her? If she's
happy where she is--let her stop where she is."

"Lord bless you for s