"So am I, darling, and so is Uncle John; we are all sorry, but we are glad now because it is all over and he cannot sin any more or suffer any more. I wanted to tell you while you were little, so that somebody would not tell you when you grow up. When you think about him, thank God that he forgave him,—that is the happy part of it."
"Why didn't papa tell me?"
"He knew I would tell you some day, if you had to know. I would rather tell you than have any one else in the world tell you."
"I won't tell anybody, ever. I don't want people to know my papa was in a prison. I asked him once what a prison was like and he would not tell me much."
She kept her head on Miss Prudence's shoulder and rubbed her fingers over
Miss Prudence's hand.
There were no tears in her eyes, Miss Prudence's quiet, hopeful voice had kept the tears from coming. Some day she would understand it, but to-night it was a story that was not very sad, because he had got out of the prison and God had forgiven him. It would never come as a shock to her; Miss Prudence had saved her that.
XX.
"HEIRS TOGETHER."
"Oh, for a mind more clear to see,
A hand to work more earnestly,
For every good intent."—Phebe Cary.
"Aunt Prue," began Marjorie, "I can't help thinking about beauty."