"Yes; Mr. Carlton gave it to me to return to you before the meeting of the Committee. I forgot all about it. I found it in my coat pocket last night and went and told him. He instructed me to hand it to you this morning. I'm sorry it happened." The clerk seemed too stunned to speak. When he recovered his breath he broke out into a string of adjectives. "Well, of all the cheeky kids, you're about the worst I ever met," was the peroration. "I said I was sorry," said Barry, half resentfully. Joel sneered. "You don't suppose you can get anyone to believe that, do you?" "What do you mean?" "I mean that it looks like a bit of tricky business on the part of Mr. Carlton and yourself." Barry's eyes blazed. "Don't you dare to reflect on Mr. Carlton," he cried. "He didn't know a thing about it. Besides, he defended you before the Committee. Have you forgotten that?" Joel was mollified. "That's so. I take back what I said about him. But it looks bad for you." The return of the bill caused a mild sensation in Congressional circles. Most of Mr. Carlton's associates accepted the explanation by the young page. But a number of others, who desired to make political capital out of the incident, magnified its importance and tried to make it appear that the Congressman had been guilty of the folly of stealing his own bill. When Barry heard this he was very much perturbed. He hurried to the office of his benefactor. "I can't tell you how badly I feel, Mr. Carlton," he said; "isn't there anything I can do to make reparation for my folly?" "No," was the mild reply, "you can do nothing more than you have done. It will be a nine days' wonder and after that it will be forgotten." "I'll not forget it very soon," said the boy, soberly. "No," admitted the Congressman, "and Barry, that's the worst of our faults. They leave marks that are sometimes never entirely eliminated by time. My father tried to illustrate the fact for me when I was a boy. He had a fine piece of walnut that he intended to utilize in making a piece of furniture. It was smoothly planed and polished. One rainy day, with the destructiveness of youth, I hammered it full of nails. I was not a vicious boy, but I knew that I was doing wrong." "What did he say?" asked Barry eagerly. "He was very much grieved, but instead of thrashing me, as I expected, he made me pull the nails out one by one. After that he gave me a plane and bade me smooth the board off as best I could. Finally I was told to putty up the holes. After that he asked me if I thought the board was as good as it had been before I disfigured it." "Of course, it wasn't," commented Barry.