'Well, father, I was always taught that listeners never heard any good of themselves. Not that the proverb holds strictly true in this case; but if Uncle Mat were standing in your place, and heard what I said to Miss Ross, he would not deny I was speaking the truth--being always praised for my truthfulness and shaming the devil as much as possible; and if you are for saying that Uncle Mat was a kind brother to one who acted as his own father, I am bound to say that I do not agree with you.' 'No, my lass; I am free to confess that Mat might have been kinder, and that as far as that goes you are speaking Gospel truth; but my Susan and I have been used to say the Lord's Prayer together every night; and Susan--that's your mother, Prissy--would sometimes whisper as we knelt down, "Tom, are we sure we have quite forgiven everybody? I was put out this afternoon with Mat;" and sometimes her voice would tremble a bit when she came to the words, "Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us."' And Mr. O'Brien took off his straw hat with old-fashioned reverence. Mrs. Baxter gave a little choke. 'I wish I had left it unsaid, father, if you are going to take on like this,' she observed remorsefully. 'Sooner than grieve you, I would hold my tongue about Uncle Mat for the remainder of my natural life. There is nothing I would do sooner than have my mother quoted to me like a Scripture saint, as though I were not worthy to tie her shoe-string.' 'Nay, nay, my lass, you are misunderstanding my meaning.' 'No, father, begging your pardon, I am not; and, as I have often told Miss Ross, I never feel worthy to be the offspring of such parents. Miss Ross'--turning to her--'my father is a little low this evening, and I have put him out of his usual way. I will leave you to talk to him a bit while I open a bottle of our white currant wine to hearten you for your walk home.' 'Poor Prissy!' observed Mr. O'Brien, shaking his gray head; 'she is a worrier, as Susan used to say; but her bark is worse than her bite. She is a good soul, and I would not change her for one of the lively sort.' 'She is really very sorry for having pained you.' 'Sorry! Bless my heart, you don't know Prissy. She will be that contrite for showing the sharp edge of her tongue that there will be nothing she will not do to make amends. It will be, "Father, what will you have?" and, "Father, do you think you could enjoy that?" from morning to night, as though I were a new-born babe to be tended. No, no, you are not up to Prissy. She has not got her mother's sweet, charitable nature--my Susan, bless her dear heart! always thought the best of everybody--but Prissy is a good girl, for all that.'