“He shall know all!” cried Frederick; “all that concerns myself, I mean. Sir, I disguised myself in this dress; I came up to your room to-night on purpose to see you, without your knowing it, that I might mimic you. The chimney-sweeper, where is he?” said Frederick, looking round; and he ran into the hall to see for him. “May he come in? he may—he is a brave, an honest, good, grateful boy. He never guessed who I was. After we left you we went down to the kitchen together, and there, fool as I was, for the pleasure of making Mr. Christopher and the servants laugh, began to mimic you. This boy said he would not stand by and hear you laughed at; that you had saved his life; that I ought to be ashamed of myself; that you had just given me half a crown; and so you had; but I went on, and told him I’d knock him down if he said another word. He did; I gave the first blow; we fought; I came to the ground; the servants pulled me up again. They found out, I don’t know how, that I was not a chimney-sweeper. The rest you saw. And now can you forgive me, sir?” said Frederick to Mr. Eden, seizing hold of his hand. “The other hand, friend,” said the Quaker, gently withdrawing his right hand, which everybody now observed was much swelled, and putting it into his bosom again. “This, and welcome,” offering his other hand to Frederick, and shaking his with a smile. “Oh, that other hand!” said Frederick, “that was hurt, I remember. How ill I have behaved—extremely ill! But this is a lesson that I shall never forget as long as I live. I hope for the future I shall behave like a gentleman.” “And like a man—and like a good man, I am sure thou wilt,” said the good Quaker, shaking Frederick’s hand affectionately; “or I am much mistaken, friend, in that black countenance.” “You are not mistaken,” cried Marianne. “Frederick will never be persuaded again by anybody to do what he does not think right: and now, brother, you may wash your black countenance.” Just when Frederick had got rid of half his black countenance, a double knock was heard at the door. It was Mr. and Mrs. Montague. “What will you do now?” whispered Mrs. Theresa to Frederick, as his father and mother came into the room. “A chimney-sweeper covered with blood!” exclaimed Mr. and Mrs. Montague. “Father, I am Frederick,” said he, stepping forward towards them, as they stood in astonishment. “Frederick! my son!” “Yes, mother, I’m not hurt half so much as I deserve; I’ll tell you—” “Nay,” interrupted Bertha, “let my brother tell the story this time. Thou hast told it once, and told it well; no one but my brother could tell it better.” “A story never tells so well the second time, to be sure,” said Mrs. Theresa; “but Mr. Eden will certainly make the best of it.”