“I ain’t fit to go with them, you tell ’em, and I’ll slip into a back seat after folks are in.  I know the way.”  And, before Ben could reply, he was gone.

[Illustration:  BEN AND HIS FATHER OPEN THE GREAT GATE.]

Nothing was seen of him along the way, but he saw the little party, and rejoiced again over his boy, changed so greatly for the better; for Ben was the one thing which had kept his heart soft through all the trials and temptations of a rough life.

“I promised Mary I’d do my best for the poor baby she had to leave, and I tried, but I guess a better friend than I am has been raised up for him when he needed her most.  It wont hurt me to follow him in this road,” thought Mr. Brown as he came out into the highway from his stroll “across lots,” feeling that it would be good for him to stay in this quiet place for his own as well as for his son’s sake.

The bell had done ringing when he reached the green, but a single boy sat on the steps and ran to meet him, saying with a reproachful look: 

“I wasn’t going to let you be alone and have folks think I was ashamed of my father.  Come, Daddy, we’ll sit together.”

So Ben led his father straight to the Squire’s pew, and sat beside him with a face so full of innocent pride and joy that people would have suspected the truth if he had not already told many of them.  Mr. Brown, painfully conscious of his shabby coat, was rather “taken aback,” as he expressed it, but the Squire’s shake of the hand and Mrs. Allen’s gracious nod enabled him to face the eyes of the interested congregation, the younger portion of which stared steadily at him all sermon time, in spite of paternal frowns and maternal tweakings in the rear.

But the crowning glory of the day came after church, when the Squire said to Ben, and Sam heard him: 

“I’ve got a letter for you from Miss Celia.  Come home with me and bring your father.  I want to talk to him.”

The boy proudly escorted his parent to the old carry-all, and tucking himself in behind with Mrs. Allen, had the satisfaction of seeing the slouched felt hat side by side with the Squire’s Sunday beaver in front, as they drove off at such an unusually smart pace that, it was evident, Duke knew there was a critical eye upon him.  The interest taken in the father was owing to the son at first, but, by the time the story was told, old Ben had won friends for himself, not only because of the misfortunes which he had evidently borne in a manly way, but because of his delight in the boy’s improvement, and the desire he felt to turn his hand to any honest work, that he might keep Ben happy and contented in this good home.

“I’ll give you a line to Towne.  Smithers spoke well of you, and your own ability will be the best recommendation,” said the Squire, as he parted from them at his door, having given Ben the letter.