ting
to the writhing subject of the shoemaker's ire. In an instant
Maxwell was lying four or five feet from his bench in a corner of
his shop, among the lasts and scraps of leather. A powerful blow on
the side of his head, with a heavy cane, had done his. The father's
hand had dealt it. Maxwell rose to his feet in a terrible fury, but
the upraised cane of Miller, his dark and angry countenance, and his
declaration that if he advanced a step toward him, or attempted to
lay his hand again upon the boy, he would knock his brains out,
cooled his ire considerably.

"Come, my boy," Miller then said, catching hold of the hand of the
sobbing child--"let me take you away from this accursed den for
ever."

"Stop!" cried Maxwell, coming forward at this; "you cannot take that
boy away. He is bound to me by law, until he is twenty-one. Bill!
don't you dare to go."

"Villain!" said Miller, in a paroxysm of anger, turning toward
him--"I will have you before the the court in less than twenty-four
hours for inhuman treatment of this child--of _my child_."

As Miller said this, the trembling boy at his side started and
looked eagerly in his face.

"Oh, sir! Are you indeed my father?" said he, in a voice that
thrilled me to the finger ends.

"Yes, William; I am your father, and I have come to take you home."

Tears gushed like rain over the cheeks of the poor boy. He shrank
close to his father's side, and clung to him with a strong grasp,
still looking up into a face that he had never hoped to see, with a
most tender, confiding, hopeful, expressive countenance.

The announcement of the fact subdued the angry shoemaker. He made a
feeble effort at apology, but was cut short by our turning abruptly
from him and carrying of the child he had so shamefully abused.

I parted from the father and son at the first carriage-stand that
came in our way. When I next saw Bill, his appearance was very
different indeed from what it was when I first encountered him. His
father lived some ten years from this time during the most of which
period William was at school or college. At his death he left him a
large property, which remained with him until his own death, which
took place a few years ago. He never I believe, had the most distant
idea of the cause which had separated his mother from his father.
That there had been a separation he knew too well but, he always
shrank from inquiring the reason, and had always remained in
ignorance of the m