"Yes, mother, he's going right off, so don't cry any more."
Mrs. Mason reached forth her hand; she was a tall, fine woman, with bright eyes, that tears only softened; these eyes full of touching sorrow were lifted to his. All that was good in the man's nature arose in response to this look. His hand trembled as it grasped hers. He could have fallen on his knees and wept over it, so great was the power of love in a nature that had little else to soften it. But the eyes of the child followed his movements vigilantly, and he dropped the mother's hand with a deeply drawn breath.
"Give the gentleman a kiss, my little Rose," whispered the mother, touched by his humble demeanor.
Rose turned her face squarely upon him and lifted her eyes. He met their clear glance and dared not kiss her.
"Good-by," he said, standing before them uneasily.
"Good-by," answered Rose, eagerly.
"When you are better—when you are a little reconciled, Ellen, may I come again?"
"No, no," shouted Rose, waving her hand, "no, no, no."
"Be still, Rose, this is naughty. Remember he was your father's friend."
Rose hid her face and began to cry. Thrasher took the mother's hand again, dropped it, and went away, softened and almost remorseful.