!" repeated Silas Wilson, still harping on a wrong
which he had never forgotten nor forgiven.

Bert was rather disgusted at the farmer's meanness, but he relieved his
anxiety.

"He's brought you back the money!" he said shortly.

"He has!" exclaimed Silas in a tone of gladness. "Did he tell you so?"

"Yes; it is all the money he had, and he went without food rather than
spend any of it."

"Come, that's encouragin'," said the farmer. "He's turnin' from his evil
ways."

When they reached Bert's chamber they saw Mrs. Wilson kneeling beside
the bed, her harsh features softened by the light of an affection which
had been absent from them for years. She looked contented and happy, now
that her boy was restored to her.

"Got back again, Phineas, hey?" said Silas Wilson. "You're lookin'
kinder peaked."

"Yes, father, I've been sick, but now----"

"I'll soon get him well!" interposed Mrs. Wilson. "I'll go right down
and bring up some breakfast."

"I can eat it, mother. I have had nothing except the bread and milk Bert
brought me."

On Wednesday evening Bert closed his engagement with the farmer, and
declined to continue it, though urged strongly to do so. He went home in
a whirl of excitement, for Phineas Wilson had told him something which
overwhelmed him with astonishment.

CHAPTER XXIII.

BERT FORMS A RESOLUTION.

"Mother," said Bert abruptly, as he entered the cottage at the close of
his engagement with the farmer, "when did father die?"

Mrs. Barton sank into a chair, and looked searchingly in her son's face.

"Why--do--you--ask?" she said slowly.

"I have been told to-day that he was living only a year since."

"Who told you?"

"Phineas Wilson, the farmer's son."

"Did he see him a year ago?"

"Yes, in some town in Canada--near Toronto, I believe. But, mother, you
don't seem surprised."

"No, Bert, for I knew your father was living."

"Then why don't he come home. Why don't he live with us? Is there some
mystery?"

"Yes, Bert, and a painful one for your unfortunate father. It is the
fear of a prison that has kept him away from home."

"Surely, mother," said Bert, painfully shocked, "my father was not a
criminal?"

"No, but circumstances made him appear such."

"Tell me the story."

"It is time that you heard it. Ten years ago your father and Albert
Marlowe were employed by Weeks Brothers, large shoe manufacturers in a
Massachusetts town. Both were skilled workmen----"

"Did