nd Lane had one more vote and a deal of
prestige. The young man thought he was voting for his convictions.

He had just cast his ballot, and the crowd was murmuring around him
still at the wonder of it--for the Australian ballot has tongues as
well as ears--when his father came up, with two or three of his old
friends, each with the old ticket in his hands. He heard the rumor
and laughed. Then he came up to Tom.

"Huh," he said, "dey been sayin' 'roun' hyeah you voted de Democratic
ticket. Go mek 'em out a lie."

"I did vote the Democratic ticket," said Tom steadily.

The old man fell back a step and gasped, as if he had been struck.

"You did?" he cried. "You did?"

"Yes," said Tom, visibly shaken; "every man has a right--"

"Evah man has a right to what?" cried the old man.

"To vote as he thinks he ought to," was his son's reply.

Deacon Swift's eyes were bulging and reddening.

"You--you tell me dat?" His slender form towered above his son's, and
his knotted, toil-hardened hands opened and closed.

"You tell me dat? You with yo' bringin' up vote de way you think
you're right? You lie! Tell me what dey paid you, or, befo' de Lawd,
I'll taih you to pieces right hyeah!"

Tom wavered. He was weaker than his father. He had not gone through
the same things, and was not made of the same stuff.

"They--they give me five dollahs," he said; "but it wa'n't fu'
votin'."

"Fi' dollahs! fi' dollahs! My son sell hisse'f fu' fi' dollahs! an'
forty yeahs ago I brung fifteen hun'erd, an' dat was only my body, but
you sell body an' soul fu' fi' dollahs!"

Horror and scorn and grief and anger were in the old man's tone. Tears
trickled down his wrinkled face, but there was no weakness in the grip
with which he took hold of his son's arms.

"Tek it back to 'em!" he said. "Tek it back to 'em."

"But, pap--"

"Tek it back to 'em, I say, or yo' blood be on yo' own haid!"

And then, shamefaced before the crowd, driven by his father's anger,
he went back to the man who had paid him and yielded up the precious
bank-note. Then they turned, the one head-hung, the other proud in his
very indignation, and made their way homeward.

There was prayer-meeting the next Wednesday night at Bethel Chapel. It
was nearly over and the minister was about to announce the Doxology,
when old Deacon Swift arose.

"Des' a minute, brothahs," he said. "I want to mek a 'fession. I was
too ha'd an' too brash in my talk de othah night, an' de