“He told me he had come to Hull, a greater journey than he had ever taken in his life, to see an aged and dying sister; that he had closed her eyes in peace, and was returning the next day. “‘An’ you’ll gan wi’ ma’, weean’t yo’?’ said he. “I replied, ‘I will. But tell me where you are staying, and I’ll come and see you.’ “From him I learnt the pleasing news that Old Crabtree had survived his injuries; that he was in all respects an altered man; and that he had expressed his opinion that I was innocent of the outrage that nearly took his life. “‘Bud,’ said Adam, ‘there’s a pratty peck o’ trubble aboot you. They say ’at t’ yung squire was fun’ i’ t’ spot wheer yo’ were kill’d, wi’ your gun iv his hand, an’ your blood on his clooas; an’ ’at he murder’d yo’ iv a quarrel aboot Lucy Blyth. Ah nivver beleeaved it, though ah did think ’at somebody ’ad shutten yo’. Maister Philip’s a good lad, an’ wadn’t ho’t a worm. It’s throan ’im intiv a brain feeaver, an’ t’ poor aud squire’s varry near fit for Bedlam wi’ sorro’. Gan yer ways yam, Morris, as fast as ye’r legs’ll carry yo’, an’ put t’ poor aud man oot ov ’is misery.’ “I reached Waverdale Hall late at night, and told the squire all about it. He insisted, in his gratitude, that I should stay all night, and so it happened that when Bill Buckley, the housebreaker, saw me, he fell on the stairs like a dead man, shrieking, ‘Black Morris’s ghost!’ And now, mother,” said he, as he concluded his stirring recital, “I’m back again to be a comfort and a help to you; and never again, by God’s help, to cause you a sigh or a tear.” The proud and happy mother, like the parent of the prodigal in the unmatched Gospel story, “fell upon his neck and kissed him.” “Father,” said Black Morris, “I’ve been a bad and reckless son; forgive _me_, once for all.” Piggy Morris rose from his chair, took the two hands of his son in his, and said,-- “Son Jack, a greater brute of a feyther never made a lad go wrong. Forgive _me_, once for all.” Mary was utterly overcome at this, and flinging her arms around her father’s neck, kissed him on either cheek, which was in itself a deed unknown from childhood until now. “Let us pray,” said Mr. Clayton. That good man lifted up his voice in praise and prayer; and no happier, holier scene took place on that cold December day, and no more sweetly solemn spot was looked upon by angels than that which was sheltered by the roof-tree of Piggy Morris. CHAPTER XXX. MIDDEN HARBOUR HAS A NEW SENSATION. “I saw one man, armed simply with God’s Word, Enter the souls of many fellow men, And pierce them sharply as a two-edged sword, While conscience echoed back his words again; Till, even as showers of fertilising rain Sink through the bosom of the valley clod, So their hearts opened to the wholesome pain,-- One good man’s prayers, the link ’twixt them and God.” _Caroline E. Norton._