humility.

"Promise me that you will never again speak unkindly to one who has
erred," answered the clergyman, with a sad smile, pressing his hand. "It
was not well that you should use the cutting tone in which you hinted
your suspicion."

"I know it," said Chester, frankly. "Mark, I hope you cherish no ill
feeling. Here is my hand, if you will take it."

Mark had covered his face again; he did not look up nor move.

"I don't know but I was wrong in my thoughts," proceeded the young man.
"I hope I was. But my blood boils when I see cruelty to animals, and I
have not yet learned self-control."

"Which you _must_ learn," added Father Brighthopes, with tender
earnestness.

"I am sorry, Mark, I can't do anything for your colt," observed Mr.
Royden, who, to change the disagreeable topic, had caught the animal,
and led him by the halter to the spot where the jockey was sitting. "I
wish I could."

"I don't deserve it," muttered the other, with his head down. "It is
good enough for me. Ches was right. _I knocked that eye out with the
butt of my whip._"

He gnashed his teeth again, and began to tear his hair with remorse.

Father Brighthopes whispered to Chester and his father, who presently
went away together, leaving him alone with Mark. They returned to the
hay-field. It was noon before they saw the clergyman again. He arrived
home from talking with Mark just as the mowers were washing their hot
faces at the well, in preparation for dinner.

And still Mark Wheeler sat upon the trough, with his face in his hands;
no longer gnashing his teeth and tearing his hair, but sobbing as only
strong men sob.

XXIII.

SATURDAY AFTERNOON.

The fine weather continued during the week. Literally Mr. Royden and his
men "made hay while the sun shone." Saturday came, and they were
astonished at what was done.

"I have tried my new system pretty thoroughly," said the farmer to his
aged guest, that morning. "I have taken things in an easy way,
decidedly, this week. Work has gone ahead amazingly. The river was deep,
but it ran smoothly. The hay-field has been like a play-ground to all of
us."

But the crisis was to come. Saturday was the great "drawing" day. Mr.
Royden was a cautious man; doubting whether the fine weather would
continue until Monday, he was anxious to see every cock of hay in the
stack, or under shelter, before night. He had laid his plans with great
foresight, and would have accomplished them beautifu