Never had I heard or seen in our house a thing like this. I saw, in the fading light, my father working his hands as I have described, a signal of restrained anger, and, like anything physically unusual in one we love, not quite pleasant to see. But my mother, who knew not fear of him nor of any, went on, despite his saying, “This is unseemly--unseemly, wife.” “Thou art unjust, John, to my son.” “Thy son?” “Yes; mine as well as thine. I have faith that thou, even thou, John, wouldst have done as my boy did.” “I? I?” he cried; and now I saw that he was disturbed, for he was moving his feet like some proud, restrained horse pawing the grass. At last he broke the stillness which followed his exclamations: “There is but one answer, wife. Both have been brutes, but this boy has been kept near to godly things all his life. Each First-day the tongues of righteous men have taught him to live clean, to put away wrath, to love his enemies; and in a day--a minute--it is gone, and, as it were, useless, and I the shame of the town.” I hoped this was all; but my mother cried, “John! John! It is thy pride that is hurt. No, it is not seemly to dispute with thee, and before thy son. And yet--and yet--even that is better than to let him go with the thought that he is altogether like, or no better than, that man. If thou hast a duty to bear testimony, so have I.” And thus the mother of the prodigal son had her say. No doubt she found it hard, and I saw her dash the tears away with a quick hand, as she added, “If I have hurt thee, John, I am sorry.” “There is but one answer, wife. Love thy enemy; do good to them that despitefully use thee. Thou wilt ruin thy son with false kindness, and who shall save him from the pit?” I turned at last in a storm of indignation, crying, “Could I see my mother treated like a street-wench or a gutter-drab, and lift no hand? I wish I had killed him!” “See, wife,” said my father. “Yes, even this was to be borne.” “Not by me!” I cried, and strode into the house, wondering if ever I was to be done with it. The day after no one of us showed a sign of this outbreak. Never had I seen the like of it among us; but the Quaker habit of absolute self-repression, and of concealment of emotion again prevailed, so that at breakfast we met as usual, and, whatever we may have felt, there was no outward evidence of my mother’s just anger, of my father’s bitterness, or of my own disgust. X I was not yet to see the end of my iniquity, and was to feel the consequences in ways which, for many a day, influenced my life and actions.