upon the harsh and unsympathetic glance of his father. The youngest
Miss Smith, from the pure depths of her foolish little heart, moved
unconsciously toward him.
"It's fifteen years ago since he left my house," said Mr. Thompson,
"a rovier and a prodigal. I was myself a man of sin, O Christian
friends,--a man of wrath and bitterness" ("Amen," from the eldest Miss
Smith),--"but praise be God, I've fled the wrath to come. It's five
years ago since I got the peace that passeth understanding. Have you got
it, friends?" (A general sub-chorus of "No, no," from the girls,
and, "Pass the word for it," from Midshipman Coxe, of the U. S. sloop
Wethersfield.) "Knock, and it shall be opened to you.
"And when I found the error of my ways, and the preciousness of grace,"
continued Mr. Thompson, "I came to give it to my son. By sea and land I
sought him far, and fainted not. I did not wait for him to come to me,
which the same I might have done, and justified myself by the Book of
books, but I sought him out among his husks, and--" (the rest of the
sentence was lost in the rustling withdrawal of the ladies). "Works,
Christian friends, is my motto. By their works shall ye know them, and
there is mine."
The particular and accepted work to which Mr. Thompson was alluding had
turned quite pale, and was looking fixedly toward an open door leading
to the veranda, lately filled by gaping servants, and now the scene of
some vague tumult. As the noise continued, a man, shabbily dressed, and
evidently in liquor, broke through the opposing guardians, and staggered
into the room. The transition from the fog and darkness without to the
glare and heat within evidently dazzled and stupefied him. He removed
his battered hat, and passed it once or twice before his eyes, as he
steadied himself, but unsuccessfully, by the back of a chair. Suddenly,
his wandering glance fell upon the pale face of Charles Thompson; and
with a gleam of childlike recognition, and a weak, falsetto laugh, he
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