The letter filled the tender heart of the foster-mother with yearning.  The sum frightened her, though she, like the boy, comforted herself with the thought that her husband could pay it without embarrassment.  Still, she trembled to think of his wrath.  Her chief feeling was one of sympathy for her erring, penitent boy.  How natural it was for one of his age to be led away by evil associates!  All boys—­she supposed—­must sow some wild oats, though few, she was confident, showed such a beautifully penitent spirit, and it would be a small matter in future years when he should have become the great and good man she knew he was going to be.

How noble it was of him to offer to give up or postpone the completion of the education so dear to his heart and tie himself to a desk in that tiresome counting-house in order to pay his debts—­he that was born to shine as a poet.  She exulted that he had offered to make such a sacrifice, but he should never make it, never while she had breath in her body to protest!

How her heart bled for him in his sorrow over his wrong-doing!  How she longed to fold his dear curly head against her breast and tell him that he was quite, quite forgiven!  She would reward him for the splendid stand in his classes and at the same time make him forget his troubles on account of the debts by giving him the loveliest imaginable Christmas.  Uncle Billy must search the woods for the brightest greens, the prettiest holly; for the house must look its merriest for the home-coming of its young master, covered with honors!  There must be mistletoe, too she told herself, her mouth dimpling and a suspicion of a twinkle flashing out from under her dewy lashes.  The fatted calf should be killed, her boy should make merry with his friends.

The dear letter was kissed and cried over until it took much smoothing on her knee to make it presentable to hand over to her husband for perusal.  Her fingers were still busy stroking out the crumples, though her tears were dried, and her thoughts were happily engaged with plans for a Christmas party worthy to celebrate the home-coming of her darling, when Mr. Allan came in to supper.  She was brought back to recollection of the confession in the letter and her apprehensions as to how it would be received, with a start, and before timidly handing her husband the open letter, she began preparing him for its contents and excusing the writer.

“A letter from Eddie, John, dear.  He has stood splendidly in his classes, but asks your forgiveness for having done wrong in his spare time.  He is so manly and noble in his confession, John, and in his offer to make reparation!”

John Allan’s face clouded and hardened instantly.

“What is this?  Confession?  Reparation?—­Give me the letter!”

But she held it away from him.

“It seems he has gotten into a card-playing set who have led him away further than he realized.  Oh, don’t look like that, John!  He is so young, and you know how evil association can influence the best of boys!”