stead
of giving him a taste of jail for it, as he ought to have done, he
just took him right into his family and kept him there for three
years. I used to tell him he'd be sorry for it, but he always
persisted that Ben wasn't bad at heart and would come out all right
some day. No matter what the young varmint did old Stephen would make
excuses for him--'his ma was dead,' or he 'hadn't had no bringing-up.'
I was thankful when he did finally clear out without doing some
penitentiary work."

"If poor old Stephen hadn't been so open-handed to every unfortunate
critter he came across," said Gabe, "he'd have had more for himself
today."

The whistle of the mail train cut short the discussion of Stephen
Strong's case. In a minute the room was vacant, except for the
stranger. When left to himself he also rose and walked out. Turning
away from the station, he struck briskly into the Greenvale road.

About three miles from the station he halted before a house built close
to the road. It was old-fashioned, but large and comfortable-looking,
with big barns in the rear and an orchard on the left slope. The house
itself was in the shadow of the firs, but the yard lay out in the
moonlight and the strange visitor did not elect to cross it. Instead,
he turned aside into the shadow of the trees around the garden and,
leaning against the old rail fence, gave himself up to contemplation of
some kind.

There was a light in the kitchen. The window-blind was not down and he
had a fairly good view of the room. The only visible occupant was a
grey-haired old man sitting by the table, reading from a large open
volume before him. The stranger whistled softly.

"That's old Stephen--reading the Bible same as ever, by all that's
holy! He hasn't changed much except that he's got mighty grey. He must
be close on to seventy. It's a shame to turn an old man like him out
of house and home. But Joe Moore always was a genuine skinflint."

He drew himself softly up and sat on the fence. He saw old Stephen
Strong close his book, place his spectacles on it, and kneel down by
his chair. The old man remained on his knees for some time and then,
taking up his candle, left the kitchen. The man on the fence still sat
there. Truth to tell, he was chuckling to himself as he recalled all
the mischief he had done in the old days--the doubtful jokes, tricks,
and escapades he had gone through with.

He could not help remembering at the same time how patient old