“It was my brother—Nat’s uncle, Peter,” whispered Mrs. Jackson.
“Why, mother,” Nat ejaculated, “you never told me it was these Coddingtons!”
“And not until the day I came to see you at the hospital, Nat, did I find out that it was these Jacksons,” said Mr. Coddington. Then turning to Nat’s mother he said: “Now you must certainly admit that the Coddingtons, Mrs. Jackson, owe a good deal to the Jacksons—life, honor, their country’s success. Between your family and mine on which side lies the obligation?”
“It was a service gladly rendered.”
“But one that cost your family dear. Oh, I have discovered, you see, how the incident came to the knowledge of your Southern neighbors and how, in rage, they burned your father’s plantation driving you all from it. I have looked up all the facts. Your father came North in the hope of recovering his fortunes; he died; you married, strangely enough, another Jackson; your husband was unfortunate and before he won a place in life he, too, was taken from you and you were left with this boy. You strayed into Milburn—it is needless to go on; you see I know all your story. I wished, my dear madam, to verify my suspicions. I have verified them. You and Nat unconsciously came to a haven where you never again shall have cause to worry. Your son shall be trained to share my son’s fortunes. The Coddingtons can never cancel their debt to the Jacksons, but at least they shall repay a part of it. You who know so well what pride is will not, I am sure, deny me this pleasure and satisfaction.”
For a few moments there was silence.
Then Mrs. Jackson extended her hand toward Mr. Coddington.
“Let us not consider it a debt between strangers,” she said. “Rather let it be a bond between friends. I will gladly accept your kindness and go to England with you all.”
And so two weeks later Peter, amid the cheers of the workmen, bade good-bye to the tanneries.