The little conference at Mr. Furbush's was over, and Mr. Morrison, rising, said slowly: "I was very sorry to feel it my duty to take part in this matter. Let us forget it, and all be friends. Good-day, Mr. Furbush." He shook hands with that gentleman, and also with Isaac, both of whom responded with very poor grace. Then they walked out into the open air. Mr. Morrison, turning to Tony as they reached the sidewalk, remarked: "My boy, I was glad to see that you exhibited no desire for revenge." As they walked back toward Mr. Smart's store, the senior Morrison talked earnestly with the stranger, while young Morrison said to Tony: "Well, good-by, my friend. Father is determined to go back to Boston to-night, and wants me to go with him. I won't forget you." Morrison gave him a warm pressure of the hand, and then Tony found himself alone. How unutterably lonesome the world seemed to the boy at that moment! and as he walked slowly home he reviewed the events of the last few months. His winter's work had exceeded his most sanguine expectations, and yet he felt the burden of defeat upon him. When he reached home, his father questioned him closely in regard to what had transpired, all of which he explained minutely. "The young rascal!" said Job Loring, clenching his hands and frowning. "He got off too easy. He'd orter had a lesson." "I am satisfied," said Tony. "I think it will be a lesson to him." Tony was treated with much more consideration than formerly, but somehow it brought him little comfort, and a week dragged slowly by. Aaron had improved greatly, now that poverty had loosened its grip upon them, and was helping his father fix up around the house, when a stranger came walking up to the door one afternoon. "Hullo, Job! How are you?" he cried, reaching out his hand. Tony, who was reading, looked up to see his father shaking hands with the red-whiskered man whom he had such good reason to remember. The stranger nodded to Tony. "So you're Job Loring's son, are you?" he said. "I tell you what it is, Job, that chap isn't very big," pointing to Tony, "but he's a boy to be proud of." After this, he talked in low, earnest tones to Mr. Loring and Aaron, and soon the three started together in the direction of Ashville. Father and son did not return till nearly dark, and then they came with quick, hopeful tread. "Amanda," said Mr. Loring, eagerly, "what do you think? I've got every cent o' my pay." Mrs. Loring stopped her work in surprise. "I'm glad for Tony's sake," she replied. "Now he can have his money. He's been moping around the house like a shadow." Mr. Loring looked thoughtful. "I have been harsh with him sometimes, I s'pose, and I've said lot's o' things ag'in the rich folks that I hadn't orter. There's one decent one, anyway." "Who's that?" his wife wanted to know. "Mr. Morrison." Tony came into the room at this moment, and caught the sound of the name. "What of him?" he asked. Then Job Loring told his story: