“I can’t tell. I’ve even written back to the old country,--I was born in Ireland,--and tried to find out, but I think the records must have been destroyed. I could not get any information about it. I can remember once shaking hands with Abraham Lincoln, in the city of Hartford. That is a landmark in my life. I was grown up then and able to do a man’s work.” John Wycliff arose, took down a volume from his bookcase, and examined it a moment. “Lincoln was in Hartford on the fifth day of March, 1860, and, I think, never at any other time. Very likely you are about sixty-five years old now.” “What is the matter with your daughter?” asked Mrs. Wycliff. “I cannot tell you, because the doctors cannot tell me. It seems to be a sort of melancholy.” “What caused it?” “Well, there’s a point I don’t like to speak of.” “Don’t mention it, then. Please forgive me for asking.” “After all, it doesn’t matter, seeing there are no strangers here;” and Uncle Jerry lowered his voice and looked inquiringly toward the doors. “There is no one except ourselves within hearing,” said Mrs. Wycliff, reassuringly. “It was years ago, but after you left the hills,” continued Uncle Jerry, in a low voice. “Pet,--that’s what we called her,--was gay as a bird till then. Pet got acquainted with a fine young man up in the country,--a fine fellow he was every way. I’d say that if ’twas the last thing I was to say in this world. Never a likelier fellow ever grew up on the hills, if I do say it. Well, he took a liking to our Pet, and I guess there was as much love on Pet’s part as on his.” Uncle Jerry paused. After a little Mrs. Wycliff ventured to ask: “Why didn’t they marry?” “Well, you see,--” and Uncle Jerry’s voice dropped lower still. “I said he was as fine a fellow as ever grew up on the hills, and I wouldn’t take it back if it was to be the last thing I ever said, but--he was a Protestant.” Uncle Jerry was silent a few moments. “Looking back now, it seems to me that we were both, Pet’s mother and I, willing to ruin Pet for life rather than have her marry a Protestant. While I cannot say positively that this is the reason for Pet’s long sickness, yet of one thing I am certain--she has not been like her former self since that time.” “But what became of him?” “He went away, to the West it was believed. No one on the hills, so far as I know, has heard from him since. But this whole subject is one which I do not like to think about, much less talk about. I have learned one lesson, and a pretty costly one,--when God has taught two persons to love one another no one should be guilty of keeping them apart.”