it by worshipping your mother."

Champney Googe's eyes filled to overflowing, but he squeezed the
springing drops between his eyelids, and asked with lively interest:

"Why isn't Mrs. Caukins reconciled?"

"Well, because--I suppose it's no secret now, at least Mrs. Caukins has
never made one of it, in fact, has aired the subject pretty thoroughly,
you know her way--"

Champney looked up and smiled. "I'm glad she hasn't changed."

"But of course you don't know it. The fact is she had set heart on
having for a daughter-in-law Aileen Armagh--you remember little Aileen?"

Champney Googe's hands closed spasmodically on the arms of his chair. To
cover this involuntary movement, he leaned forward suddenly and kicked a
burning brand, that had fallen on the hearth, back into the fireplace. A
shower of sparks flew up chimney.

Father Honore went on without waiting for the answer he knew would not
be forthcoming: "Aileen gave me a fright the other day. I met her on the
street, and she took that occasion, in the midst of a good deal of noise
and confusion, to inform me with her usual vivacity of manner that she
was to be housekeeper to a man--'a job for life,' she added with the old
mischief dancing in her eyes and the merry laugh that is a tonic for the
blues. Upon my asking her gravely who was the fortunate man--for I had
no one in mind and feared some impulsive decision--she pursed her lips,
hesitated a moment, and, manufacturing a charming blush, said:--'I don't
mind telling you; it's Mr. Octavius Buzzby. I'm to be his housekeeper
for life and take care of him in his old age after his work and mine is
finished at Champo.' I confess, I was relieved."

"My aunt is still living, then?" Champney asked with more eagerness and
energy than the occasion demanded. His eyes shone with suppressed
excitement, and ever-awakening life animated every feature. Father
Honore, noting the sudden change, read again, as once six years before,
deep into this man's heart.

"Yes, but it is death in life. Aileen is still with her--faithful as the
sun, but rebelling at times as is only natural. The girl gave promise of
rich womanhood, but even you would wonder at such fine development in
such an environment of continual invalidism. Mrs. Champney has had two
strokes of paralysis; it is only a question of time."

"There is _one_ who never was my friend--I've often wondered why."

Into the priest's inner vision flashed that evening before his d