f revenge, and I have prayed for
pardon. My mother has called on the McElwins to beseech them to
forgive me, and I went to the bank today on the same errand."

"Wait a moment," said Lyman, as the young minister moved toward the
steps leading to the dooryard. "Did the banker forgive you?"

The young man stood with his umbrella under the edge of the roof, and
the rain rumbled upon it. "No, sir. He said I had done his family a
vital injury. I told him I might have been an instrument in the hands
of a higher power, and he sneered at me. I hope you forgive me, Mr.
Lyman."

"To be frank, I am secretly glad that it happened," Lyman replied.

"But not maliciously or even mischievously glad, I hope," said the
preacher.

"No, I am glad for other reasons, but I cannot explain them."

The rain rumbled upon the umbrella and the preacher was silent for a
moment. "Mr. McElwin said that if I could induce you to sign the
petition he would forgive me. And I told him I would. Will you sign
it?"

"I cannot, Mr. Bostic."

"May I ask why?"

"Because I stand as the young woman's protector. She despises Sawyer,
and her father was determined that she should be his wife."

"Did she tell you, sir?"

"Yes, and I have promised; but this is confidential."

"Then, sir, the petition must not be signed. The ceremony, after all,
was a blessing, and I shall not again crave the banker's forgiveness.
Good night."

CHAPTER XIII.

IN A MAGAZINE.

There came a day, and it followed the picnic, with not a week between,
when Lyman's midnight scratching, done at the house of old Uncle
Buckley, came out into the dazzling light. A story written by him
appeared in one of the leading magazines of the East. It was a simple
recital, a picture of the country and its people, and so close down
upon the earth did it lie that a patter of rain that fell somewhere
among the words brought a sweet scent from the blackberry briars, and
a smell of dust from the rain. There were intelligent reading persons,
in Old Ebenezer, and with the big eye of astonishment they viewed the
story, but they were afraid to form an opinion until the critic of the
"State Gazette," following a bold lead struck by an eastern reviewer,
declared it to be a piece of masterly work. And then the town of Old
Ebenezer was glad to assert its admiration. The leading hardware man
said that he had noticed from the first that there was something
strange about the fellow.

"And," sai