n's good-natured face looked unusually grave.

'Good-evening, Miss Ross. I thought we should see you before your
flitting. I am sorry I stepped out for a bit, and so lost your company.
Prissy, my girl, I don't want to find fault with you, but I'll not deny
that it hurts me to hear you speak against Mat, poor old chap! when he
is not here to answer for himself. It is woman-like, but it is not
fair'--looking at them with mild reproach--'and it cuts me to hear it.
It is not what your mother, my blessed Susan, would have done. She was
never hard upon Mat--never!'

Mrs. Baxter gave a penitent little sniff, and a faint flush came to her
sallow face; with all her faults, she was devoted to her father. But she
was a true daughter of Eve, and this well-deserved reproach only moved
her to feeble recrimination.

'Well, father, I was always taught that listeners never heard any good
of themselves. Not that the proverb holds strictly true in this case;
but if Uncle Mat were standing in your place, and heard what I said to
Miss Ross, he would not deny I was speaking the truth--being always
praised for my truthfulness and shaming the devil as much as possible;
and if you are for saying that Uncle Mat was a kind brother to one who
acted as his own father, I am bound to say that I do not agree with
you.'

'No, my lass; I am free to confess that Mat might have been kinder, and
that as far as that goes you are speaking Gospel truth; but my Susan and
I have been used to say the Lord's Prayer together every night; and
Susan--that's your mother, Prissy--would sometimes whisper as we knelt
down, "Tom, are we sure we have quite forgiven everybody? I was put out
this afternoon with Mat;" and sometimes her voice would tremble a bit
when she came to the words, "Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive
them that trespass against us."' And Mr. O'Brien took off his straw hat
with old-fashioned reverence.

Mrs. Baxter gave a little choke.

'I wish I had left it unsaid, father, if you are going to take on like
this,' she observed remorsefully. 'Sooner than grieve you, I would hold
my tongue about Uncle Mat for the remainder of my natural life. There is
nothing I would do sooner than have my mother quoted to me like a
Scripture saint, as though I were not worthy to tie her shoe-string.'

'Nay, nay, my lass, you are misunderstanding my meaning.'

'No, father, begging your pardon, I am not; and, as I have often told
Miss Ross, I never feel worth