me, Aunt Mary."

"Am I hard on you? I am sure I don't know how. That is Frank's idea of
the matter."

"Aunt Mary! if you only knew what a good-for-nothing fellow I have been!
I am sure I cannot see why my father should have confidence in me."

"In whom should he have confidence, if not in you?" said Mrs Inglis,
smiling.

Philip had nothing to answer. A feeling of shame, painful but
wholesome, kept him silent. Even according to his own idea of right, he
had been undutiful in his conduct to his father. He had accepted all
from him, he had exacted much, and he had given little in return, except
the careless respect to his wishes in little things, which he could not
have refused to any one in whose house he was a guest. They had been on
friendly terms enough, as a general thing, but there had been some
passages between them which he did not like to remember. That his
father should have had any satisfaction in him or his doings, except
indeed in the case of the transaction of the timber at Q--, was not a
very likely thing. The very supposition went deeper than any reproaches
could have gone and filled him with pain and regret.

"Frank is a good fellow, but he does not know everything," said he,
dolefully.

"I think he must know about your father, however, he is with him so
constantly, and he says he is better. It will be some time before he is
able for business again, I am afraid. In the meantime he has perfect
confidence in Mr Caldwell and in you, which must be a comfort to him."

Philip shook his head.

"Aunt Mary, the business is no longer his, and what we are doing is for
the benefit of others. He has lost everything."

"He has not lost everything, I think," said Mrs Inglis, smiling, "while
he has you and Frank and your sisters. He would not say so."

Philip rose and came and stood before her.

"Mrs Inglis, I cannot bear that you should think of me as you do. It
makes me feel like a deceiver. I have not been a good son to my father.
I am not like your Davie."

Mrs Inglis smiled as though she would have said, "There are not many
like my Davie." But she looked grave in a minute and said--

"There is one thing in which you differ. Davie is an avowed servant of
the Lord Jesus Christ. He professes to desire to live no longer to
himself, but to Him."

"And you think that is everything, Aunt Mary?"

"I think it is the chief thing."

"Well, I am not like that. I am very far from that."

"B