Philip was deeply moved by what he had heard, and very gradually he began to understand that the story was a true one, and that it concerned him and his parents very closely; his mother had come in and resumed her drooping attitude before the fire, and presently he went timidly over to her and laid his cheek close to hers. “Mother,” he said softly, “I think I can guess who the brave girl was who saved the men’s lives, and, mother dear, if my father loved her so very much, would he lay it up against her that she spoke a bit too quickly just that once?”
With a quick cry Mag gathered her little boy into her arms, breaking into sobs and tears which were the relief her sad heart needed.
“Oh, father!” she murmured, “to think he knows it all, an’ yet he does not hate his poor, wicked mother.”
“No, no,” cried Philip, weeping too. “I love ye more than ever, my own dear mother, an’ I mean to try and fill my father’s place, an’ take such good care of ye, mother dear.”
“Bravely spoken, little lad,” said grandfather, his brown wrinkled face beaming satisfaction on the group by the fire. “I always told ye, Mag, that ’twould be far better the boy should be told, an’ besides he had a right to know about his father, who was a real gentleman, an’ one for his son to be proud of, though I may be a little late in saying so, God forgive me! You see I was so over-fond of your mother, boy, that if an angel from heaven had wanted to marry her I would have thought him scarce good enough; an’ then, too, I had a foolish pride about our being such ignorant folks, an’ he so learned and able to paint all them wonderful pictures, that I was feared he’d feel scorn of us.”
The old man sighed penitently, and Mag laid her hand lovingly on his knee.
“I’ll not deny ye was a little hard on my husband,” she said tremulously, “but it was all meant kindly enough, an’ as my little Philip said just now, perhaps now he understands it all.”
“I am sure of it,” said Philip softly, patting her cheek.
After that Mag talked more freely to the boy of his father, and indeed it seemed to afford her both relief and pleasure to speak at last upon a subject which had so long lain heavily on her heart. She told Philip of her first meeting with the handsome young artist, who was staying then in the neighborhood at a large house now vacant, which Philip remembered to have seen on a memorable visit to a neighboring town, and which belonged to the family of his father’s dearest friend and college chum, Frederick Ashden. The two friends had come to Ashden for the summer vacation, and Philip Norton, who had really a marked talent for painting, was quite enraptured with the opportunities for sketching which he found in the picturesque mining village.
It was in the course of one of his long rambles about the country in search of subjects that the young artist had met the handsome village girl, whose dark beauty he at once proceeded to transfer to canvas. Mag was easily persuaded to pose for a series of sketches which prolonged their intercourse through many a long summer afternoon, when her father was away working in the mine and the motherless girl was free to do as she pleased. They were as happy as birds, and with scarcely more thought for the future; and then it was that the neighbors began to shake their heads, and to gossip about the handsome gentleman who was far too fine for the daughter of a poor miner. After a while their hints and whisperings reached the ears of the girl’s father—and the rest we know.