eavored to stifle his
misery and go about his daily tasks. The sympathy of his parishioners was
not made apparent by their bearing toward him. He was disappointed in not
receiving more direct consolation from his friends and those with whom he
was in direct and almost daily communication. There was something
shamefaced in their attitude. His churchwardens mumbled a few words of
regret, and turned away, confused. People avoided him in the street, for
the simple reason that they knew not what attitude to take in such
painful circumstances. The stricken man was very conscious of, but could
not understand, the constraint and diffidence of those people who did
pluck up sufficient courage to say they were sorry.

The revelation came, not through the proper channel--his wife--but from
an old friend who met the rector in the street, one afternoon, and spoke
out. He offered his hand, and, gripping the clergyman's slender, delicate
white fingers, exclaimed:

"I'm sorry for you, Swinton, and sorry for the lad. He died like a man,
and I'll not believe it was to avoid disgrace."

"Avoid disgrace?" cried the rector, astounded.

"Ay; many a man has gone to war because his country was too hot to hold
him. But your son was different. If he did steal his grandfather's money,
he meant to come back. Thieves and vagabonds of that sort don't stand up
against a wall with a dozen rifles at them, and refuse to speak the few
words that'd save their skins."

"Stole his grandfather's money! What do you mean?"

"Why, the money they say he got from the bank. Bah! the Ormsby's are a
bad lot. I'd rather deal with the Jews. It was his grandfather he thought
he was cheating, perhaps--that isn't like stealing from other people. But
this I will say, Swinton: your wife, she might have told a lie to save
the boy."

"I don't understand you," said the clergyman, haughtily.

"Well, I'll be more plain. He altered his grandfather's checks, and kept
the money for himself, didn't he? Well, if my boy had done the same, and
my wife hadn't the sense or the heart to shield him, I'd--" He broke off
abruptly.

"What you are saying is all double Dutch to me," cried the rector,
hoarsely. "You don't mean to tell me that the bank people have set about
that cock-and-bull story of repudiated checks? I told them they were
wrong. I thought they understood."

"Ay, you told them they were wrong; but your wife told them they were
right--at least, that's how the story g