"She's bound up in me, you see," said the old man, with a curious grimace. "Nothing but the reading of my will will ever comfort her when I die." "Daddy, Daddy," said Annie, reproachfully, "have charity. Good-night; I will send you something nice for to-morrow." An amused smile lingered on Gregory's face as they pursued their way homeward, now in the early twilight; but Annie's aspect was almost one of sadness. After a little he said, "Well, he is one of the oddest specimens of humanity I ever met." She did not immediately reply, and he, looking at her, caught her expression. "Why is your face so clouded, Miss Annie?" he asked. "You are not given to Mrs. Tuggar's style of 'solemn joy'?" "What a perplexing mystery life is after all!" she replied, absently. "I really think poor old Daddy Tuggar speaks truly. He is a 'well-meaning' man, but he and many others remind me of one not having the slightest ear for music trying to catch a difficult harmony." "Why is the harmony so difficult?" asked Gregory, bitterly. "Perhaps it were better to ask, Why has humanity so disabled itself?" "I do not think it matters much how you put the case. It amounts to the same thing. Something is required of us beyond our strength. The idea of punishing that old man for being what he is, when in the first place he inherited evil from his parents, and then was taught it by precept and example. I think he deserves more credit than blame." "The trouble is, Mr. Gregory, evil carries its own punishment along with it every day. But I admit that we are surrounded by mystery on every side. Humanity, left to itself, is a hopeless problem. But one thing is certain: we are not responsible for questions beyond our ken. Moreover, many things that were complete mysteries to me as a child are now plain, and I ever hope to be taught something new every day. You and I at least have much to be grateful for in the fact that we neither inherited evil nor were taught it in any such degree as our poor neighbor." "And you quietly prove, Miss Walton, by your last remark, that I am much more worthy of blame than your poor old neighbor." "Then I said more than I meant," she answered, eagerly. "It is not for me to judge or condemn any one. The thought in my mind was how favored we have been in our parentage--our start in existence, as it were." "But suppose one loses that vantage-ground?" "I do not wish to suppose anything of the kind." "But one can lose it utterly." "I fear some can and do. But why dwell on a subject so unutterably sad and painful? You have not lost it, and, as I said before to-day, I will not dwell upon the disagreeable any more than I can help." "Your opinion of me is poor enough already, Miss Walton, so I, too, will drop the subject." They had now reached the house, and did ample justice to the supper awaiting them.