Ah! the shadows would have been deeper still, could he have seen that unhappy boy a little while afterward, as, with his face buried in the pillow that supported the head of his sick mother, he sobbed until his whole frame quivered.  Had Mr. Abercrombie only asked the reason why his appearance at the store was so late on this morning, he would have learned that the delay had been solely occasioned by needful attendance on his sick and almost helpless mother; and on a little further ininquiry, humanity would have dictated approval rather than censure and punishment.  But, touching all this painful consequence of his ill-nature, the merchant knew nothing.  How rarely do we become cognizant of the evil wrought upon others by our hasty and ill-judged actions!

The shadow was still on Mr. Abercrombie’s feelings, when, half an hour afterward, a man came to him and said—­

“It will be impossible for me to lift the whole of that note to-day.”

“You’ll have to do it,” was the quiet answer.  Mr. Abercrombie frowned darkly as he thus replied.

“Don’t say that, Mr. Abercrombie.  I only want help to the amount of two hundred dollars.”

“I do say it.  You must raise the money somewhere else.  I don’t like this way of doing business.  When a man gives his note, he should make it a point of honour to pay it.”

“Oh, very well,” said the man.  “I’m sorry if I’ve troubled you.  I’ll get the money from a friend.  Good morning.”

And he turned off abruptly, and left the store.  Mr. Abercrombie felt rebuked.  He had a large balance in the bank, and could have accommodated him without the smallest inconvenience.  In another state of mind he would have done so cheerfully.

“O dear!” sighed the unhappy merchant, speaking mentally; “what has come over me?  I’m losing all control of myself.  This will never, never do.  I must set a guard upon my lips.”

And he did so.  Conscious of his state of irritability, he subdued his tones of voice, and restrained utterance when tempted to angry or inconsiderate speech.  Not again during the day was he guilty of such inexcusable conduct as in the instances mentioned; yet the shadow remained upon his feelings, strive as he would to throw off the gloomy impression.

It was late in the day when Mr. Abercrombie turned his steps homeward.  How little was he satisfied with himself!  And now, when he remembered, with painful distinctness, the clouded brow of his wife, how little promise was there of home-sunlight, to dispel the gloom of his own feelings!

As the hand of the merchant rested upon his own door, he almost dreaded to enter.  He shrank from meeting that clouded visage.  The shadows were dark when he left in the morning, and experience told him that he need scarcely hope to find them dispelled.  Happily, though still in the sky, the clouds were broken, and gleams of sunshine came breaking through.  Ah! if they had only possessed sufficient power to