e do? His conscience told him, nothing. All his
earnings belonged to the employers he had robbed.

After a minute he took a sheet of paper and tried to write the answer,
no. And Mr. Bowdoin came in, and caught him crying. The old gentleman
knocked over a coal-scuttle, and turned to pick it up. By the time he
had done so Jamie had rubbed the tears from his eyes, and stood there
like a soldier at "Attention."

"Jamie," said Mr. Bowdoin, "I should like to make a little present to
your ward, to Mercedes. Could you send it for me? I hope she is well?"
And before Jamie could answer Mr. Bowdoin had written out a check for
a hundred dollars. "Give her my love when you write. I must go to a
directors meeting." And he scurried away hurriedly.

Jamie sat down again and wrote his letter, and told her that the money
was from Mr. Bowdoin. "But, dear heart," it ended, "even if I cannot
help you, always write." And, going home that night, Jamie began to
fancy that some omniscient power had put it into the old gentleman's
heart just then to do this thing.

III.

Old Mr. Bowdoin, one morning, some time after this, stood at his
window before breakfast, drumming on the pane. The gesture has
commonly been understood to indicate discontent with one's
surroundings. Mrs. Bowdoin had not yet come down to breakfast.
Outside, her worthy spouse could see the very tree upon which cousin
Wendell Phillips had not been hanged; and his mouth relaxed as he saw
his grandson Harley coming across the Common, and heard the portentous
creaking that attended Mrs. Bowdoin's progress down the stairs,--the
butler supporting her arm, and her maid behind attending her with
shawl and smelling-salts. The old lady was in a rude state of health,
but had not walked a step alone for several years. As she entered,
Harley behind her, old Mr. Bowdoin gravely and ostentatiously pulled
out a silver dollar and put it into the hand of the surprised young
man.

"Pass it to the account," said he.

Harley took the coin, and, detecting a wink, checked his expression of
surprise.

"It all goes into the fund, my dear, to be given to your favorite
charity the first time you are down in time for breakfast. It amounts
to several thousand dollars already."

Mrs. Bowdoin snorted, but, with a too visible effort, only asked
Harley whether he would take coffee or tea.

"With accumulations, my dear,--with accumulations. But you should not
address me from your carriage i