"Yes, I know you would. I'm sure of that. Pattie, I want to know— do you think you can ever forgive me for getting at your letters, and then telling Mrs. Smithers what I thought? I told Mr. Cragg the other day about it; and he says you behaved beautifully, and we've got to do the best we can to make up to you for what you've had to bear. And we want you always to live here,—to be like Dot's elder sister. If it hadn't been for you, we shouldn't have any little Dot now. Cragg and I can't forget that. Do you think you can forgive me?" Pattie had had no chance of getting in a word thus far. As she could not make her voice heard, she spoke with her face. "I'm sure I don't deserve you should. And I've given my husband a lot of bother lately. I can't think what's come over me the last few years. But I do mean to be different now; and I'll try to learn to be what you say I ought to be to Dot. Only, I shall want you to help me. And if you went away, perhaps I might forget. I don't think I should, but I might." The conversation was interrupted. Cragg walked in, carrying a letter, which he gave to Pattie. "Post this minute come," he remarked. "Dot is looking more herself this afternoon than I've seen her. Just been there, and she woke up. She's all right; you needn't hurry. Eh?"—as an exclamation burst from Pattie. The girl clasped her hands. "O! I am so glad! It's the one thing I wanted! I am so glad! My dear father!" "Anything happened?" asked Cragg. Pattie's face was a mixture of smiles and tears. "Yes. A letter from Mr. Peterson himself—such a kind letter. He has found out who took the money, and he knows now that it was not my father. He is so grieved to think he could ever have suspected him. He says he would give his right hand to undo the past." "The man must be a wretch! Why, he ought to have known your father better!" declared Mrs. Cragg. Like most persons of suspicious temperament, she was voluble in condemning others for doing what she would have done herself. "I think he ought; but it is easy for us to say that now. I suppose it was not easy for him to feel sure then. My father never spoke a hard word of Mr. Peterson." "And your father will never know that the truth is found out. I do think that's too bad." Cragg was silent, watching the light on Pattie's face. "Why should he not know? How can we tell? If he cannot see or hear for himself what goes on here—and we don't know anything about that!— I should think the angels would tell him. If he cares to know, I am sure they would. I am so thankful it is cleared up. It is like a great weight taken off me." "And you mean to say,"—began Mrs. Cragg,—"you mean to say, Pattie, that you can feel kindly about that man—that Peterson?" "I think he did wrongly. He was sure too quickly. He ought to have trusted longer. But it was difficult for him—things looked black, I suppose. And now he is very very sorry. No one could be more sorry."