hing past the crowd saw--I don't know what he
saw--but old Clare said his face went grey-white with anger. He seized
hold of poor Peter, tore the clothes off his back--bonnet, shawl, gown,
and all--threw them among the crowd, and before all the people lifted up
his cane and flogged Peter.

"My dear, that boy's trick on that sunny day, when all promised so well,
broke my mother's heart and changed my father for life. Old Clare said
Peter looked as white as my father and stood still as a statue to be
flogged.

"'Have you done enough, sir?' he asked hoarsely, when my father stopped.
Then Peter bowed grandly to the people outside the railing and walked
slowly home. He went straight to his mother, looking as haughty as any
man, and not like a boy.

"'Mother,' he said, 'I am come to say "God bless you for ever."'

"He would say no more, and by the time my mother had found out what had
happened from my father, and had gone to her boy's room to comfort him,
he had gone, and did not come back. That spring day was the last time he
ever saw his mother's face. He wrote a passionate entreaty to her to
come and see him before his ship left the Mersey for the war, but the
letter was delayed, and when she arrived it was too late. It killed my
mother. And think, my dear, the day after her death--for she did not
live a twelve-month after Peter left--came a parcel from India from her
poor boy. It was a large, soft white India shawl. Just what my mother
would have liked.

"We took it to my father in the hopes it would rouse him, for he had sat
with her hand in his all night long. At first he took no notice of it.
Then suddenly he got up and spoke. 'She shall be buried in it,' he said.
'Peter shall have that comfort; and she would have liked it.'"

"Did Mr. Peter ever come home?"

"Yes, once. He came home a lieutenant. And he and my father were such
friends. My father was so proud to show him to all the neighbours. He
never walked out without Peter's arm to lean on. And then Peter went to
sea again, and by-and-by my father died, blessing us both and thanking
Deborah for all she had been to him. And our circumstances were changed,
and from a big rectory with three servants we had come down to a small
house with a servant-of-all-work. But, as Deborah used to say, we have
always lived genteelly, even if circumstances have compelled us to
simplicity. Poor Deborah!"

"And Mr. Peter?" I asked.

"Oh, there was some great war in India, a