"Hugh, I do believe you will succeed in your undertaking, and that Nick Lang is already firmly planted on the right path!" exclaimed the old lady, with considerable warmth, when the story had been brought up to date, bringing in an account of Hugh's most recent talk with the former terror of the town. "It looks encouraging, anyhow," he merely replied; though, of course; he felt a flush of boyish pride at the warm look she gave him when saying what she did. "My husband has worked with many an erring lad," she continued reminiscently; "sometimes with fair success, but only too often without, apparently, winning him away from his bad companions. But your idea was most unique. To think it all came of your reading Hugo's masterpiece, and taking it to heart. But here comes Joel; and we can soon be seated at the supper table." The more Hugh saw of this remarkably genial old couple the closer did he seem to be drawn to Deacon Winslow and his crippled wife. Indeed, Hugh soon came to the conclusion that they were the warmest-hearted pair he had ever known in all his life. Mrs. Winslow was wheeled cheerily to her appointed place at the table by her husband, who waited on her just as assiduously as though they were lately married; instead of having "trudged along life's highway in double harness," as the deacon, humorously put it, for a matter of sixty years or so. Of course, as Deacon Winslow was a deeply religious man, Hugh expected he would ask a blessing before partaking of the bountiful spread that was placed on the table; nor was he disappointed. The deacon's deep-toned voice was wonderfully musical, and to Hugh it sounded almost as though he were singing whenever he spoke. He never grew tired of hearing the old blacksmith talk; though they would not allow him to be a mere visitor, but, by asking many questions, kept Hugh in the conversation. The little fellow had been placed in a high chair. It looked of very ancient vintage, Hugh thought, when first sighting it. Seeing the look on his face the good lady of the house said in a voice that she tried to keep from vibrating: "It was our Joel's chair; somehow we have managed to keep it intact through all the years. There was a time when I dreamed of some day seeing this boy seated at my table in his father's high chair. But your small friend, Hugh, fills a long vacant spot. I could almost fancy he belonged there, he seems so like----" Deacon Winslow must have seen that his wife was getting on forbidden ground, for just at that moment he broke in with a question that demanded an answer from Hugh; and so the subject was dropped. But Hugh understood, and he felt his boyish heart throb with genuine sympathy for this splendid couple, who had yearned to have a house full of children, but somehow found their dearest wish set aside by a mysterious decree of Providence.