ur
boy, that part of your own self and that other dearer self, who is
walking in evil ways? Why, I know a man whose son was hanged the other
day; hanged on the gibbet; think of it. If you be quivering while the
surgeon cuts away that right arm, remember the poor devil in the
hospital yesterday who had both his sawed off.

Oh, have done, with your mutilated men and your sons on gibbets! What
are they to me? My hurt is greater than all, because it is my own. If
it be only that day after day I must look with warm entreaty into eyes
that are cold. Let it be but that peculiar trick of feature which I
have come to hate, seen each morning across the breakfast table. That
recurrent pin-prick: it hurts. The blow that lays the heart in twain:
it kills. Let be mine which will; it is the one that counts.

If Misery kill a man, that ends it. But Misery seldom deals so
summarily with his victims. And while they are spared to earth, we
find them usually sustaining life after the accepted fashion.

Hosmer was seated at table, having finished his breakfast. He had also
finished glancing over the contents of a small memorandum book, which
he replaced in his pocket. He then looked at his wife sitting opposite
him, but turned rather hastily to gaze with a certain entreaty into
the big kind eyes of the great shaggy dog who stood--the shameless
beggar--at his side.

"I knew there was something wrong," he said abruptly, with his eyes
still fixed on the dog, and his fingers thrust into the animal's
matted wool, "Where's the mail this morning?"

"I don't know if that stupid boy's gone for it or not. I told him. You
can't depend on any one in a place like this."

Fanny had scarcely touched the breakfast before her, and now pushed
aside her cup still half filled with coffee.

"Why, how's that? Sampson seems to do the right thing."

"Yes, Sampson; but he ain't here. That boy of Minervy's been doing his
work all morning."

Minervy's boy was even now making his appearance, carrying a good
sized bundle of papers and letters, with which he walked boldly up to
Hosmer, plainly impressed with the importance of this new role.

"Well, colonel; so you've taken Sampson's place?" Hosmer observed,
receiving the mail from the boy's little black paws.

"My name's Major, suh. Maje; dats my name. I ain't tuck Sampson's
place: no, suh."

"Oh, he's having a day off--" Hosmer went on, smiling quizzingly at
the dapper little darkey, and handing him a re