his guest's
excited state, went on talking in his grave kind voice, to give him
time, and help him to grow calm.

'Doubtless thou wilt find it hard to abstain from drink at first,' he
continued, 'but keep up a brave heart for the sake of thy wife and
children, and it will soon become easy. Whenever thou hast need of
coffee tell my wife, Mary, and she will give it thee.'

Mary Savery's blue eyes shone as she nodded her head; she did not say
a word, for she saw that her guest was nearly at an end of his
composure. Gently she laid her hand on his rough sleeve as if to try
to calm and reassure him. But even her light touch was more than he
could bear at that moment. Pushing the food and drink away from him
untasted, he laid both his arms on the table, and burying his head, he
wept like a child.

The husband and wife looked at each other. 'Can I do anything to help
him?' Mary's eyes asked her husband in silence. 'Leave him alone for a
little; he will be better when this fit of tears is over,' his wise
glance answered back.

William Savery was right. The burst of weeping relieved John Smith's
over-wrought feelings. Besides, he really was almost faint with
hunger. In a few moments, when the coffee was actually held to his
lips, he found he could drink it--right down to the bottom of the cup.
As if by magic, the cup was filled up again, and then, very quickly,
the meatpies too began to disappear.

At each mouthful the man grew calmer. It was an entirely different
John Smith who took leave of his kind friends an hour later. Again
they followed him to the door. 'Try to do well, John, and thou wilt
always find a friend in me,' William Savery said, as they parted. Mary
Savery added no words--she was never a woman given to much talk. Only
she slipped her fingers into her guest's hand with a touch that said
silently, 'Fare thee well, _friend_.'

The next day John Smith entered the tanyard, not this time slinking in
as a thief in the darkness, but introduced by the master himself as an
engaged workman. For many years he remained with his employer, a
sober, honest, and faithful servant, respected by others and
respecting himself. The secret of the first visit was kept. William
and Mary Savery never alluded to it, and John Smith certainly did not,
though the memory of it never left him and altered all the rest of his
life.

Long years after John Smith was dead, William Savery, in telling the
story, always omitted the man's nam