it's no disgrace. Though I'm such a
big fellow I can't write; and your son was good enough to try and teach
me. I was afraid of forgetting the letters; so I tried to make them
all over again, with a bit of chalk, on the bark-shed wall. It did
nobody any harm that I know of."

The boy's tone, even though it was rather quick and angry, won no
reproof. At last my father said gently enough--

"Is that all, lad?"

"Yes."

Again Abel Fletcher fell into a brown study. We two lads talked softly
to each other--afraid to interrupt. He smoked through a whole
pipe--his great and almost his only luxury, and then again called out--

"John Halifax."

"I'm here."

"It's time thee went away to thy work."

"I'm going this minute. Good-bye, Phineas. Good day, sir. Is there
anything you want done?"

He stood before his master, cap in hand, with an honest manliness
pleasant to see. Any master might have been proud of such a
servant--any father of such a son. My poor father--no, he did not once
look from John Halifax to me. He would not have owned for the world
that half-smothered sigh, or murmured because Heaven had kept back from
him--as, Heaven knows why, it often does from us all!--the one desire
of the heart.

"John Halifax, thee hast been of great service to me this night. What
reward shall I give thee?"

And instinctively his hand dived down into his pocket. John turned
away.

"Thank you--I'd rather not. It is quite enough reward that I have been
useful to my master, and that he acknowledges it."

My father thought a minute, and then offered his hand. "Thee'rt in the
right, lad. I am very much obliged to thee, and I will not forget it."

And John--blushing brightly once more--went away, looking as proud as
an emperor, and as happy as a poor man with a bag of gold.

"Is there nothing thou canst think of, Phineas, that would pleasure the
lad?" said my father, after we had been talking some time--though not
about John.

I had thought of something--something I had long desired, but which
seemed then all but an impossibility. Even now it was with some doubt
and hesitation that I made the suggestion that he should spend every
Sunday at our house.

"Nonsense!--thee know'st nought of Norton Bury lads. He would not
care. He had rather lounge about all First-day at street corners with
his acquaintance."

"John has none, father. He knows nobody--cares for nobody--but me. Do
let him come."

"We'll