That night, when Brown had talked with the maid’s father for a long, long time by the kitchen stove, the maid being then turned in, he softly opened the bedroom door and entered, closing it absent-mindedly behind him, dwelling the while, in deep distress, upon the agreement he had wrested by threat and purchase from Long Bill Tweak. The maid was still awake because of terror; she was glad, indeed, to have caught sight of “By-an’-by” Brown’s broad, kindly young countenance in the beam of light from the kitchen, though downcast, and she snuggled deeper into the blankets, not afraid any more. “By-an’-by” touched a match to the candle-wick with a great hand that trembled. He lingered over the simple act—loath to come nearer to the evil necessity of the time. For Long Bill Tweak was persuaded now to be fatherly to the child; and “By-an’-by” Brown must yield her, according to her wish. He sat for a time on the edge of the little bed, clinging to the maid’s hand; and he thought, in his gentle way, that it was a very small, very dear hand, and that he would wish to touch it often, when he could not. Presently Brown sighed: then, taking heart, he joined issue with his trouble. “I ’low,” he began, “that you wisht your father was here.” The maid did. “I ’low,” he pursued, “that you wisht he was here this very minute.” That the maid did! “I ’low,” said “By-an’-by,” softly, lifting the child’s hands to his lips, “that you wisht the man in the kitchen was him.” “No,” the maid answered, sharply. “Ye doesn’t?” “Ye bet ye—no!” said she. “Eh?” gasped the bewildered Brown. The maid sat upright and stiff in bed. “Oh, my!” she demanded, in alarm; “he _isn’t_, is he?” “No!” said “By-an’-by” Brown. “Sure?” “Isn’t I jus’ _tol’_ ye so?” he answered, beaming. Long Bill Tweak followed the night into the shades of forgotten time.... * * * * *