was a
stranger, you know that the first thing that you would have done would
have been to call a meetin' and tell all the people that you had burned
down a man's barn, and been in the State's-prison, and that you wanted
them all to know it at the start; and you wouldn't have told them why
you did it, and how young you was then, and how Eliphalet treated your
mother, and how you was going to pay him for all he lost. Here,
everybody knows that side of it. In fact," she added, with a little
twinkle in her eye, "I have sometimes had an idea that the main thing
they don't like is to see you savin' every cent to pay to Eliphalet."

"And yet it was on your say that I took up that plan," said Eph. "I
never thought of it till you asked me when I was goin' to begin to pay
him up."

"And you ought to," said Susan. "He has a right to the money--and then
you don't want to be under obligations to that man all your life. Now,
what you want to do is to cheer up and go around among folks. Why, now,
you're the only fish-buyer there is that the men don't watch when he's
weighin' their fish. You'll own up to that, for one thing, won't you?"

"Well, they are good fellows that bring fish to me," he said.

"They weren't good fellows when they traded at the great wharf," said
Susan. "They had a quarrel down there once a week, reg'larly."

"Well, suppose they do trust me in that," said Eph. "I can never rub out
that I've been in State's-prison."

"You don't want to rub it out. You can't rub anything out that's ever
been; but you can do better than rub it out."

"What do you mean?"

"Take things just the way they are," said Susan, "and show what can be
done. Perhaps you'll stake a new channel out, for others to follow in
that haven't half so much chance as you have. And that's what you will
do, too," she added.

"Susan!" he said, "if there's anything I can ever do, in this world or
the next, for you or your folks, that's all I ask for, the chance to do
it. Your folks and you shall never want for anything while I'm alive.

"There's one thing sure," he added, rising. "I'll live by myself and be
independent of everybody, and make my way all alone in the world; and if
I can make 'em all finally own up and admit that I'm honest with 'em,
I'm satisfied. That's all I'll ever ask of anybody. But there's one
thing that worries me sometimes--that is, whether I ought to come here
so often. I'm afraid, sometimes, that it'll hinder your father fro