The next moment he was shivering with a frightful chill, from which he never fully rallied. CHAPTER XIX THE END AND AFTER Nowhere is an error forgotten so readily, or more kindness shown to the erring one when in trouble, than in a small place, and Merivale was not an exception. The payment of the smaller debts had done much towards restoring good feeling among a certain class of creditors. The dresses intended for Narragansett Pier had been returned to Boston. The milkman had his range and winter coal and Johnny’s overcoat. Other Johnnies would be clothed and warmed through the coming winter. The back rent on the bank was paid, the judge smacking his lips as he received the money and saying, “them women folks are trying to do the square thing.” The woman with the thirty dollars was rejoicing in her new teeth, while Nancy Sharp had been paid in full, part of the payment consisting of the identical twenty silver dollars which had gone round so many times on the day of the run, and nothing could exceed her fidelity to the Greys or the bitterness of her tongue if aught was said against them. Others of higher degree than Nancy followed her example, and words of sympathy and offers of help, if needed, were daily left at the house where the master lay dying. Mrs. Grey had recovered sufficiently to be in the sick-room a part of the time, but it was Louie who bore the burden and whispered comfort to the repentant man, who, in his anguish, often cried out: “God have mercy upon me, a miserable sinner.” “He will; He will. He knows how sorry you are. Don’t be afraid. He has said that whoever comes to Him He will not cast out, and though your sins are as scarlet He will make them white as snow,” Louie would say to him at intervals, and cheered by her words, hope came at last, and though he did not talk much, there was a look of peace upon his face which deepened as the great change came, and when Louie bent over him and asked, “Father, do you know me? And is it well with you?” he answered, “Yes, all is well,” while his old-time smile settled around his mouth and made his face more natural in death than it had been during his illness. The first intimation the judge had of his death was in church, where prayers were said for a family in affliction. He felt sure it was for Mrs. Grey and Louie, and his amen was so loud as to make his wife start and glance sideways at him. The next morning he said to her: “We’d better drive to the Greys and leave cards of condolence. Which corner do we turn down? Hanged if I know.” Mrs. White didn’t know, either, but ventured a guess that it used to be the lower left-hand; so the cards bearing the names of Judge White and Mrs. White, with the lower left-hand corner turned down, were left at the Greys, where other cards were received as the day wore on, and words of sympathy were spoken and offers of help made and accepted.