n
in some trouble when she was a silly girl, but had got over it quietly.
She was, however, troubled a good deal by some mean hound who was every
now and then raking up the story wherever she went. Well, one of her
friends--I might have been among them, I don't exactly remember just
now--challenged him, but although he had no conscientious convictions
about slandering a woman, he had some about being shot for it, and
declined. The consequence was he was cowhided once in the street, and
the second time tarred and feathered and ridden on a rail out of town.
That, I suppose, was what you meant by your 'painful story.' But is this
the woman?"

"No, no," said the deacon hurriedly, with a white face, "you have quite
misunderstood."

"But whose is this portrait?" persisted Jack.

"I believe that--I don't know exactly--but I think it is a sister of
Mrs. Rivers's," stammered the deacon.

"Then, of course, it isn't the same woman," said Jack in simulated
indignation.

"Certainly--of course not," returned the deacon.

"Phew!" said Jack. "That was a mighty close call. Lucky we were alone,
wasn't it?"

"Yes," said the deacon, with a feeble smile.

"Seth," continued Jack, with a thoughtful air, "looks like a quiet man,
but I shouldn't like to have made that mistake about his sister-in-law
before him. These quiet men are apt to shoot straight. Better keep this
to ourselves."

Deacon Turner not only kept the revelation to himself but apparently his
own sacred person also, as he did not call again at Windy Hill
Rancho during Mr. Hamlin's stay. But he was exceedingly polite in his
references to Jack, and alluded patronizingly to a "little chat" they
had had together. And when the usual reaction took place in Mr. Hamlin's
favor and Jack was actually induced to perform on the organ at Hightown
Church next Sunday, the deacon's voice was loudest in his praise. Even
Parson Greenwood allowed himself to be non-committal as to the truth of
the rumor, largely circulated, that one of the most desperate gamblers
in the State had been converted through his exhortations.

So, with breezy walks and games with the children, occasional
confidences with Melinda and Silas, and the Sabbath "singing of
anthems," Mr. Hamlin's three weeks of convalescence drew to a close. He
had lately relaxed his habit of seclusion so far as to mingle with the
company gathered for more social purposes at the rancho, and once or
twice unbent so far as to satisfy