“I remember heerin' about that, brother Ab,” Mrs. Bishop said, a reminiscent intonation in her voice. “Some folks wondered powerful over it. I don't believe money does a body much good jest to hold an' keep. As the Lord is my judge, I jest wanted that bank deposit fer Alan and Adele. I wanted it, an' I wanted it bad, but I cayn't believe it was a sin.” Something like a groan escaped Bishop's lips as he lowered the front posts of his chair to the floor. “What's the use o' talkin' about it?” he said, impatiently. “What's the use o' anything?” He rose and moved towards the door leading to his room. “Alfred,” Mrs. Bishop called to him, “are you goin' to bed without holdin' prayer?” “I'm goin' to omit it to-night,” he said. “I don't feel well, one bit. Besides, I reckon each pusson kin pray in private according to the way they feel.” Abner stood up, and removing the lamp-chimney he lighted a candle by the flame. “I tried to put a moral lesson in what I said just now,” he smiled, mechanically, “but I missed fire. Alf's sufferin' is jest unselfishness puore an' undefiled; he wants to set his children up in the world. This green globe is a sight better 'n some folks thinks it is. You kin find a little speck o' goody in mighty nigh ever' chestnut.” “That's so, brother Ab,” said his sister; “but we are ruined now--ruined, ruined!” “Ef you will look at it that way,” admitted Abner, reaching for his candle; “but thar's a place ahead whar thar never was a bank, or a dollar, or a railroad, an' it ain't fur ahead, nuther. Some folks say it begins heer in this life.” XXIV [Ill 9000] S Abner Daniel leaned over the rail-fence in front of Pole Baker's log-cabin one balmy day, two weeks later, he saw evidences of the ex-moonshiner's thriftlessness combined with an inordinate love for his children. A little express-wagon, painted red, such as city children receive from their well-to-do parents on Christmas, was going to ruin under a cherry-tree which had been bent to the ground by a rope-swing fastened to one of its flexible boughs. The body of a mechanical speaking-doll lay near by, and the remains of a toy air-rifle. After a protracted spree Pole usually came home laden down with such peace-offerings to his family and conscience. His wife might go without a needed gown, and he a coat, but his children never without toys. Seeing Abner at the fence, Mrs. Baker came to the low door and stood bending her head to look out. “I heerd at home,” said Abner, “that Pole was over thar axin' fer me. I've been away to my peach-orchard on the hill.” “Yes, he's been over thar twice,” said the woman. “He's back of the house some'r's settin' a trap fer the children to ketch some birds in. I 'll blow the horn. When I blow twice he knows he's wanted right off.”