“The sheriff knocked at the door, calling; ‘Mr. Moor! Mr. Moor! You might as well let us in! If you don’t let us in, I’ll have to force the door!’ But no one answered him. By that time the parlor was pretty full of men, who had followed us in from the street. Sheriff Mathers shook at the door, and knocked for some time, calling to Moor to open it, but getting no answer. After a while, he peeped through the key hole. I asked him whether he could see anything of Moor; he said yes—he was standing in the corner. Then I advised him to force the door, and he did so, putting his shoulder to it. He had to push pretty hard, so that when the door broke open, he ran into the room, nearly falling down. He gave a cry and ran out against Johnny Black, who was just going in. I didn’t go into the room, but I could see over Black’s shoulder that Moor was hanging from a rope that was tied to a large hook in the corner of the room. He left a few lines lying on his office desk, confessing that it was he who murdered Isaac Naylor, and that he was tired of the misery of living. I can’t remember them exactly, but they were read before the coroner’s jury. “As soon as I saw how matters had turned out, I hunted up Judge West. He went down with me to the squire’s, without losing a moment, for he said that no innocent man should be kept in gaol longer than need be. It took about an hour to get the needful witnesses together. As soon as the matter was settled the judge gave the release, and—” Here Will stopped abruptly. He stood listening, and presently Tom heard a scuffling of feet out in the corridor. The door was opened, and his father and his brothers, John and William, came into the cell. “Are you ready now?” said Will. “Yes,” said Tom’s father; “I borrowed Philip Winterapple’s gig. It’s waiting at the door.” “Are you ready to go, Tom?” “Ready to go where?” said Tom, looking about him in a dazed way. “Ready to go home.” In this simple manner, and with these few words was his bitter trouble brought to a close. Well, that is all the yarn concerning Tom Granger that need be told. The troubles that had followed him in the year and a half past had been bitter indeed, but they had all gone by now. I am not going to tell you how he married, and how he lived happily, and all that sort of matter. Surely, such a home as I see around me, and such a crowd of loving faces as gather about me at times, children, grand-children, and three great-grand-children, bespeak a life not all unhappy of its kind. Even yet, beside me is that one whose face, always sweet, now shines with a light that comes not of this life, but of the life beyond. I do thank the Giver of all good things that He has permitted us to walk the path of life hand-in-hand together for this long time. A day or two now, and one of us may go—I care not which it be, for the other will not be long in tarrying.