Uncle Frank’s own voice sounded husky.  The thought of all the suffering that poor little innocent boy had borne was not a pleasant one.

Everything that could be done to atone to Willy was done.  He was loved and praised and petted, as he had never been before; in a little while he seemed as well and happy as ever.

The next Christmas Grandpa Perry sent a beautiful little gold watch to him, and he was so delighted with it that his father said, “He doesn’t worry a bit now about the trouble he had in Exeter.  That watch doesn’t seem to bring it to mind at all.  How quickly children get over things.  He has forgotten all about it.”

But Willy Norton had not forgotten all about it.  He was just as happy as ever.  He had entirely forgiven Grandma Perry for her mistake.  Next summer he was going to Exeter again and have a beautiful time; but a good many years would pass, and whenever he looked at that little gold watch, he would see double.  It would have for him a background of his grandfather’s best coat.

Innocence and truth can feel the shadow of unjust suspicion when others can no longer see it.

THE STRANGER IN THE VILLAGE.

“Margary,” said her mother, “take the pitcher now, and fetch me some fresh, cool water from the well, and I will cook the porridge for supper.”

“Yes, mother,” said Margary.  Then she put on her little white dimity hood, and got the pitcher, which was charmingly shaped, from the cupboard shelf.  The cupboard was a three-cornered one beside the chimney.  The cottage which Margary and her mother lived in, was very humble, to be sure, but it was very pretty.  Vines grew all over it, and flowering bushes crowded close to the diamond-paned windows.  There was a little garden at one side, with beds of pinks and violets in it, and a straw-covered beehive, and some raspberry bushes all yellow with fruit.

Inside the cottage, the floor was sanded with the whitest sand; lovely old straight-backed chairs stood about; there was an oaken table, and a spinning-wheel.  A wicker cage, with a lark in it, hung in the window.

Margary with her pitcher, tripped along to the village well.  On the way she met two of her little mates—­Rosamond and Barbara.  They were flying along, their cheeks very rosy and their eyes shining.

“O, Margary,” they cried, “come up to the tavern, quick, and see!  The most beautiful coach-and-four is drawn up there.  There are lackeys in green and gold, with cocked hats, and the coach hath a crest on the side—­O, Margary!”

Margary’s eyes grew large too, and she turned about with her empty pitcher and followed her friends.  They had almost reached the tavern, and were in full sight of the coach-and-four, when some one coming toward them caused them to draw up on one side of the way and stare with new wonder.  It was a most beautiful little boy.  His golden curls hung to his shoulders, his sweet face had an expression at once gentle and noble, and his dress was of the richest material.  He led a little flossy white dog by a ribbon.