“These were Mary’s books,” said Mr. Hacket.  “I told yer uncle that ye could use them an’ welcome.  There’s another book here which ye may study if ye think it worth the bother.  It’s a worn an’ tiresome book, my lad, but I pray God ye may find no harm in it.  Use it as often as ye will.  It is the book o’ my heart.  Ye will find in it some kind o’ answer to every query in the endless flight o’ them that’s coming on, an’ may the good God help us to the truth.”

He turned and bade me good night and went away and closed the door.

I sat down and opened the sealed envelope with trembling hands, and found in it this brief note: 

     “DEAR PARTNER:  I want you to ask the wisest man you know to explain
     these words to you.  I suggest that you commit them to memory and
     think often of their meaning.  They are from Job: 

     “’His bones are full of the sin of his youth, which shall lie down
     with him in the dust.’

     “I believe that they are the most impressive in all the literature I
     have read.

     “Yours truly,
          SILAS WRIGHT, JR.”

I read the words over and over again, but knew not their meaning.  Sadly and slowly I got ready for bed.  I missed the shingles and the familiar rustle of the popple leaves above my head and the brooding silence of the hills.  The noises of the village challenged my ear after I had put out my candle.  There were many barking dogs.  Some horsemen passed, with a creaking of saddle leather, followed by a wagon.  Soon I heard running feet and eager voices.  I rose and looked out of the open window.  Men were hurrying down the street with lanterns.

“He’s the son o’ Ben Grimshaw,” I heard one of them saying.  “They caught him back in the south woods yesterday.  The sheriff said that he tried to run away when he saw ’em coming.”

What was the meaning of this?  What had Amos Grimshaw been doing?  I trembled as I got back into bed—­I can not even now explain why, but long ago I gave up trying to fathom the depths of the human spirit with an infinite sea beneath it crossed by subtle tides and currents.  We see only the straws on the surface.

I was up at daylight and Mr. Hacket came to my door while I was dressing.

“A merry day to you!” he exclaimed.  “I’ll await you below and introduce you to the humble herds and flocks of a schoolmaster.”

I went with him while he fed his chickens and two small shoats.  I milked the cow for him, and together we drove her back to the pasture.  Then we split some wood and filled the boxes by the fireplace and the kitchen stove and raked up the leaves in the dooryard and wheeled them away.

“Now you know the duties o’ your office,” said the schoolmaster as we went in to breakfast.

We sat down at the table with the family and I drew out my letter from the Senator and gave it to Mr. Hacket to read.