steady,
industrious, Christian man, who had repented in sackcloth and ashes the
errors of his lifetime. He had written to Mr. Collingsby several times,
but no notice had ever been taken of his appeals. In vain he assured
the father of his injured wife that he was an altered man; that he
drank no liquor or anything that could intoxicate; that he was a member
in good standing of the Methodist church, and that he was receiving a
handsome salary. Equally vain was the appeal for his son, whose
existence seemed to be doubted, and was practically denied.

My mother, being beyond the ocean, could not be a party to this cold
and inhuman silence, as it seemed to me. We were assured by those who
had seen my grandfather that he was aware of the facts that were known
to our friends in St. Louis. Mr. Lamar, whose acquaintance I had made
in the midst of my mishaps, had seen Mr. Collingsby, and told him the
whole story. The rich man laughed at it, and declared that it was a
trick; that, if he was a poor man, Farringford would not trouble him.
After this revelation my father refused to write again. He was sorely
grieved and troubled, but he still had a sense of self-respect which
would not permit him to grovel in the dust before any man.

I had worked at my trade two years in St. Louis, and considered myself
competent to do all ordinary work in that line. But I worked very hard,
for I was ambitious to do as much as a man. I was growing, and while I
increased in height, I lost flesh, and was lighter in weight than when
I had left the field and forest. My father thought I was working too
hard, and Mrs. Greenough seconded the argument with all the force of a
woman's influence. Still I think I should not have given up my trade
then if my employer had not changed his business, thus compelling me to
seek a new situation. I had been studying book-keeping for two years,
using all my evenings in this and other studies. I practised it with my
father, who was an accomplished accountant, until he declared that I
was competent to keep any set of books, either of a merchant or a
corporation.

Mr. Clinch, my late employer, closed up his affairs at the opening of a
new year. I could find nothing to do in the winter; but when I fretted
over my inactivity, my father told me to improve my handwriting, which,
as a carpenter, had been rather stiff. I took lessons of him, and as he
was a practical business man, I escaped the vicious habit of
flourishing i