son, he had fulfilled all the
requirements that his religious duty required of him, and yet the act
seemed to lack sanctification. In this perplexity, he read again the
parable of the Prodigal Son,--which he had long ago adopted for
his guidance,--and found that he had omitted the final feast
of reconciliation. This seemed to offer the proper quality of
ceremoniousness in the sacrament between himself and his son; and so, a
year after the appearance of Charles, he set about giving him a party.
"Invite everybody, Char-les," he said, dryly; "everybody who knows that
I brought you out of the wine-husks of iniquity, and the company of
harlots; and bid them eat, drink, and be merry."

Perhaps the old man had another reason, not yet clearly analyzed. The
fine house he had built on the sand-hills sometimes seemed lonely and
bare. He often found himself trying to reconstruct, from the grave
features of Charles, the little boy whom he but dimly remembered in the
past, and of whom lately he had been thinking a great deal. He believed
this to be a sign of impending old age and childishness; but coming, one
day, in his formal drawing-room, upon a child of one of the servants,
who had strayed therein, he would have taken him in his arms, but the
child fled from before his grizzled face. So that it seemed eminently
proper to invite a number of people to his house, and, from the array
of San Francisco maidenhood, to select a daughter-in-law. And then there
would be a child--a boy, whom he could "rare up" from the beginning,
and--love--as he did not love Charles.

We were all at the party. The Smiths, Joneses, Browns, and Robinsons
also came, in that fine flow of animal spirits, unchecked by any respect
for the entertainer, which most of us are apt to find so fascinating.
The proceedings would have been somewhat riotous, but for the social
position of the actors. In fact, Mr. Bracy Tibbets, having naturally a
fine appreciation of a humorous situation, but further impelled by the
bright eyes of the Jones girls, conducted himself so remarkably as to
attract the serious regard of Mr. Charles Thompson, who approached him,
saying quietly: "You look ill, Mr. Tibbets; let me conduct you to your
carriage. Resist, you hound, and I'll throw you through that window.
This way, please; the room is close and distressing." It is hardly
necessary to say that but a part of this speech was audible to the
company, and that the rest was not divulged by M