tales of the beginning of the long struggle for freedom of opinion. Hard
and rough were the stories of the Commonwealth, of Cromwell, Pym, and
Sir Henry Vane, the younger.

There was one very pleasing old tale that haunted Boston at this time,
of the Hebrew parable order, or after the manner of the German legend.
Such stories were rare in those days of pirates, Indians, and ghosts,
the latter of whom were supposed to make their homes in their graves and
to come forth in their graveclothes, and to set the hearts of unquiet
souls to beating, and like feet to flying with electrical swiftness
before the days of electricity.

Governor Winthrop--the same who got lost in the Mystic woods, and came
at night to an Indian hut in a tree and climbed into it, and was ordered
out of it at a later hour when the squaw came home--took a very
charitable view of life. He liked to reform wrongdoers by changing their
hearts. Out of his large love for every one came this story of old
Boston days.

We will listen to it by the Franklin fire in the candle shop. It was an
early winter tale, and it will be a good warm place to hear it there.

"It is a cold night," said Josiah, "and Heaven pity those without fuel
on a night like this! There are not overmany like Governor Winthrop in
the world."

Abiah drew her chair up nearer to the great fire, for it made one chilly
to hear the beginning of that story, but the end of it made the heart
warm.

"It was in the early days of the colony," said Josiah, "and the woods in
the winter were bare, and the fields were cold. There was a lack of wood
on the Mystic near the town.

"A poor man lived there on the salt marsh with his family. He had had a
hard time to raise enough for their support. A snowstorm came, and his
fuel was spent, his hearth was cold, and there was nothing to burn.

"The great house of the Governor rose over the ice-bordered marshes.
Near it were long sheds, and under them high piles of wood brought from
the hills.

"The poor man had no wood, but after a little time smoke was seen coming
out of his chimney.

"There came one day a man to the Governor, and said:

"'Pardon me, Governor, I am loath in my heart to accuse any one, but in
the interest of justice I have something which I must tell you.'

"'Speak on, neighbor.'

"'Some one has been stealing your wood.'

"'It is a hard winter for the poor. Who has done this?'

"'The man who lives on the marsh.'

"'His crop was n