fit to go with them, you tell 'm, and I'll slip into a back
seat after folks are in. I know the way." And, before Ben could reply,
he was gone. Nothing was seen of him along the way, but he saw the
little party, and rejoiced again over his boy, changed in so many ways
for the better; for Ben was the one thing which had kept his heart soft
through all the trials and temptations of a rough life.

"I promised Mary I'd do my best for the poor baby she had to leave, and
I tried; but I guess a better friend than I am has been raised up for
him when he needed her most. It won't hurt me to follow him in this
road," thought Mr. Brown, as he came out into the highway from his
stroll "across-lots," feeling that it would be good for him to stay in
this quiet place, for his own as well as his son's sake.

The Bell had done ringing when he reached the green, but a single boy
sat on the steps and rail to meet him, saying, with a reproachful look,--

"I wasn't going to let you be alone, and have folks think I was ashamed
of my father. Come, Daddy, we'll sit together."

So Ben led his father straight to the Squire's pew, and sat beside him
with a face so full of innocent pride and joy, that people would have
suspected the truth if he had not already told many of them. Mr. Brown,
painfully conscious of his shabby coat, was rather "taken aback," as he
expressed it; but the Squire's shake of the hand, and Mrs. Allen's
gracious nod enabled him to face the eyes of the interested
congregation, the younger portion of which stared steadily at him all
sermon time, in spite of paternal frowns and maternal tweakings in the
rear.

But the crowning glory of the day came after church, when the Squire
said to Ben, and Sam heard him,--

"I've got a letter for you from Miss Celia. Come home with me, and bring
your father. I want to talk to him."

The boy proudly escorted his parent to the old carry-all, and, tucking
himself in behind with Mrs. Allen, had the satisfaction of seeing the
slouched felt hat side by side with the Squire's Sunday beaver in front,
as they drove off at such an unusually smart pace, it was evident that
Duke knew there was a critical eye upon him. The interest taken in the
father was owing to the son at first; but, by the time the story was
told, old Ben had won friends for himself not only because of the
misfortunes which he had evidently borne in a manly way, but because of
his delight in the boy's improvement, and the de