nquire," he thundered, "if this lad whom Mr. Ambrose Thompson
has just rescued and--er--defended, is any relation of his?"

In the interrogation itself there was no offence, but to every grown-up
person who heard, the insinuation was plain enough.

To the tips of his big ears Uncle Ambrose flushed. "No, sir, he's not my
son," he answered the man, who was a stranger to him before this
evening, "and maybe I'm glad and maybe I'm sorry. For I won't say since
my daughter and Em'ly's died that I ain't thought most any kind of a
child's better than no child at all." He hesitated and then went on in
pretty much his same old fashion of talking to himself: "Come to think
of it now, mebbe in a way this boy is a son of mine, for I kind er think
that every young man that plays the fool is the son of every man that's
played the fool before him."

And then with a friendly smile he turned again toward the widow.

"Ambrose," she faltered, with two round tears rolling down her plump
cheeks, "Brother Elias and Mr. Jones advise against it, but maybe you
are thinkin' I ought to give that boy another chance."

The tall man pressed the soft hand and shook his head.

"No, Peachy, I ain't never felt in my life that I knowed what another
person _ought_ to do, but ef I've studied 'em long enough and close
enough I know pretty well what they _will_ do. I took that boy home to
spend the night with me, but I'll be drivin' out to your place with him
to-morrow toward sundown. I'm more'n anxious fer a little old-time chat
with you."

CHAPTER XVI

THE ETERNAL FIRE

UNCLE AMBROSE poured the grace of forgiveness upon the pile of buckwheat
cakes on his guest's plate next morning in the form of an over-supply of
maple syrup, saying kindly: "Eat well, sonnie; we ain't goin' to talk
over the events of last evening till you are feeling a little stronger
in the stomach."

And though the boy crimsoned and looked sullen, he proved his recovery
by his application to the cakes.

"I was an awful fool last night," he mumbled apologetically a few
moments later.

"You were," Uncle Ambrose replied, "but then being a young fool ain't so
bad; it's bein' an old one that's serious," and his faded blue eyes
twinkled self-accusingly, while the boy went on talking into his plate.

"Course I didn't know what I was doin' when I bust into that social.
Not that it matters; nobody kires fer me about here, and I'll pretty
soon be clearin' out. The widow won't