Gradually as the effects of the remarkable rescue wore off, the impatience of the parent grew until we have seen him on the point of calling to account the boy who had really been the means of saving two lives, for his own was as much imperilled as the sister’s.  Once more she appealed to that last recourse, and once more it did not fail her.  When he recalled that dreadful scene, he could not help feeling an admiring gratitude for his boy.  Although silent and reserved some time later, when the three gathered round the table for their evening meal, nothing unpleasant was said by the parent, though the sharp-witted Tim felt a strong suspicion of the cause of his father’s reserve.

Later in the evening, the latter sat down by the table in the sitting room and took up his copy of the Brereton Intelligencer, which had arrived that afternoon.  He always spent his Thursday evenings in this manner, unless something unusual interfered, the local news and selected miscellany affording enough intellectual food to last him until retiring time.

While he was thus occupied, Tim and Maggie played checkers, there being little difference in their respective skill.  They were quiet, and when necessary to speak, did so in low tones, so as not to disturb the parent.

An hour had passed, when he suddenly turned, with his spectacles on his nose, and looked at the children.  The slight resentment he still felt toward Tim caused him to address himself directly to his sister: 

“Maggie, do you know who has been writing these articles in the paper for the last few weeks?”

She held a king suspended as she was on the point of jumping a couple of Tim’s and asked in turn: 

“What articles?”

“They are signed ‘Mit’ and each paper for the last two or three months has had one of them.”

“No, sir; I do not know who wrote them.”

“Well, whoever he is he’s a mighty smart fellow.”

“Maybe it’s a ‘she,’” suggested Maggie, as she proceeded to sweep off the board the two kings of Tim that had got in the path of her single one.

“Fudge! no woman can write such good sense as that.  Besides, some of them have been on the tariff, the duties of voters, the Monroe Doctrine and politics:  what does any woman know about such themes as those?”

“Don’t some women write about them?”

“I haven’t denied that, but that doesn’t prove that they know anything of the subjects themselves.”

The miss could make no suitable response to this brilliant remark and did not attempt to do so, while Tim said nothing at all, as if the subject had no attraction to him.

By and by the parent uttered a contemptuous sniff.  He was reading “Mit’s” contribution, and for the first time came upon something with which he did not agree.

“He’s ’way off there,” remarked the elder, as if speaking to himself.

“What is it, father?” asked Maggie, ceasing her playing for the moment, for her affection always led her to show an interest in whatever interested him.