ceives the old man's greeting with shyness. "Your poor
father and me, Tom, used to sit here many a time. (The old man points to
an old sofa.) We were friends. He thought much of me, and I had a high
opinion of him; and so we used to sit for hours, and talk over the deeds
of the old continentals. Your mother and him didn't get along over-well
together; she had more dignity than he could well digest: but that is
neither here nor there."

"I hope, in time," interrupts Tom, "to repay your kindness. I am willing
to ply myself to work, though it degrades one in the eyes of our
society."

"As to that," returns the old man, "why, don't mention it. Maria, you
know, will be a friend to you. Come away now and see her." And taking
Tom by the hand, (the theologian has withdrawn,) he becomes
enthusiastic, leads him through the dark, narrow passage into the back
parlor, where he is met by Maria, and cordially welcomed. "Why, Tom,
what a change has come over you," she ejaculates, holding his hand, and
viewing him with the solicitude of a sister, who hastens to embrace a
brother returned after a long absence. Letting fall his begrimed hand,
she draws up the old-fashioned rocking chair, and bids him be seated. He
shakes his head moodily, says he is not so bad as he seems, and hopes
yet to make himself worthy of her kindness. He has been the associate of
criminals; he has suffered punishment; he feels himself loathed by
society; he cannot divest himself of the odium clinging to his garments.
Fain would he go to some distant clime, and there seek a refuge from the
odium of felons.

"Let no such thoughts enter your mind, Tom," says the affectionate girl;
"divest yourself at once of feelings that can only do you injury. You
have engaged my thoughts during your troubles. Twice I begged your
mother to honor me with an interview. We were humble people; she
condescended at last. But she turned a deaf ear to me when I appealed to
her for your release, merely inquiring if--like that other jade--I had
become enamored of--" Maria pauses, blushing.

"I would like to see my mother," interposes Tom.

"Had I belonged to our grand society, the case had been different,"
resumes Maria.

"Truly, Maria," stammers Tom, "had I supposed there was one in the world
who cared for me, I had been a better man."

"As to that, why we were brought up together, Tom. We knew each other as
children, and what else but respect could I have for you? One never
knows