, and that I can't trust you."

"You can't, because you don't; and that makes me feel the Devil in me."

"My son!"

"I know it; you think it's a bad word; but Phil says Devil; and it's
true. And besides, you forbid my going where the other boys go, and that
maddens me and makes me swear, and the fellows laugh; and because I
can't go, I do something worse."

"My poor Reuben, do you know where such badness will lead you?"

"Oh, yes, I know; I've heard it often enough; it'll lead to hell, I
guess."

"Reuben! Reuben! what does this mean?"

"I can't help it, father. There's Phil and Gus Hapgood went chestnutting
the other Saturday, and because you were afraid I shouldn't be back
before sundown you kept me at home. I know I was ten times worse than if
I'd been out chestnutting all night and half Sunday. I hate Sunday!"

"That, Reuben, is because you are wicked."

"Yes, I suppose so."

"I am glad, my son, that you see your sins and admit them."

"There's not much comfort in that," Reuben had said. "I'm none the
better for it."

"It's the first step, my son, toward repentance."

Reuben laughed a bitter laugh,--a laugh that made his father shudder.

"Sit down with me now, Reuben, and read a chapter in God's word; and
after it we will pray for His help."

"There it is again!" the boy had replied. "I knew it would come to
that!"

"And do you refuse, Reuben?"

"No, Sir, I don't, because I know it wouldn't be any use; for if I did,
I should have to go up stairs and mope in my chamber, and have Aunt
Eliza staring in upon me as if I was a murderer. But I sha'n't know what
you read five minutes after."

"My son, don't you know that will be an offence against God?"

"I can't help it."

"You _can_ help it, my son!--you _can_!"

And at this the Doctor, in an agony of spirit, (the boy recalled it
perfectly,) had risen and paced back and forth in his study; then, after
a little, threw himself upon his knees near to Reuben, and prayed
silently, with his hands clasped.

The boy had melted somewhat at this, and still more when the father rose
with traces of a tear in his eye.

"Are you not softened now, my son?"

"I always am when I see you going on that way," said Reuben.

"My poor son!"--and he had drawn the boy to him, gazing into the face
from which the blue eyes of the lost Rachel looked calmly out, moved
beyond himself.

If, indeed, the lost Rachel had been really there between the two, to
interpret the