u love truth and justice; you have the reputation of loving truth
and justice, all over the world--you have. You are a noble-minded man,"
continued Fitz, eloquently. "Now you can see what Checkynshaw is, and
now you can see what I am."

"Don't be foolish, Fitz!" interposed Mrs. Wittleworth.

"Foolish! Mother, have I not furnished wisdom for our family? Have I
not told you from the beginning what Checkynshaw was? I told you the
child was dead. Now it is proved."

"No matter if it is. It makes no difference now."

"It is matter; it does make a difference. Mother, you know how
earnestly I protested against your signing that quitclaim deed. Now I
am justified. Now you can see that I was right, and you were wrong."

Andre and Maggie had no interest in this discussion, and they hastened
their departure as soon as the atmosphere began to look stormy. The
barber was sorry he had said anything. Simple-minded man as he was, he
had not foreseen that he was getting Mr. Checkynshaw into trouble, and
he determined to say nothing more about it.

Fitz stormed furiously when it was proved that "wisdom was justified of
her followers." He declared that Checkynshaw had cheated his mother and
himself out of their inheritance, and that justice should be done, if
the heavens fell.

"What can we do? I have signed the quitclaim deed to the block of
stores."

"No matter if you have. Checkynshaw deceived you. You signed the deed
only because he said the child was living. We shall prove that the
child is dead. The proceeding will be in equity; all that has been done
can be ripped up as easily as you can tear up a piece of paper. I know
something about law. Me and Choate have talked over cases in equity."

How long this tempestuous debate would have continued none can know,
for it was disturbed by the ringing of the door bell. The person
admitted was John Wittleworth himself, the husband and father, who came
to his family clothed and in his right mind, from the House of
Correction, where he had served a term of four months as a common
drunkard. He was cordially welcomed, for he was himself; and there, on
his bended knee, he promised, and called upon Heaven to record his vow,
that he would never again taste the intoxicating cup.

He had been discharged that afternoon, and had been endeavoring till
that late hour to find his wife and son. He had finally traced them to
their new home. In the course of the evening, after the past had been
f