“I am happier than he is,” said the old man.  “And as for his eating my children’s bread, that is a mistake.  His bread is bitter, but theirs is sweet.”  He reached for a letter that lay on a table near him, and opening it, said—­“This is from my son in the West.  He writes:—­’Dear Father—­All is going well with me.  I enclose you fifty dollars.  In a month I am to be married, and it is all arranged that dear Alice and I shall go East just to see you, and take you back home with us.  How nice and comfortable we will make you!  And you shall never leave us!’”

The old man’s voice broke down on the last sentence, and his eyes filled with tears.  But he soon recovered himself, saying—­

“Before I lost my property, this son was an idler, and in such danger that through fear of his being led astray, I was often in great distress of mind.  Necessity forced him into useful employment; and you see the result.  I lost some money, but saved my son.  Am I not richer in such love as he bears me to-day, than if, without his love, I possessed a million of dollars?  Am I not happier?  I knew it would all come out right.  I had faith, and I tried to be patient.  It is coming out right.”

“But the wrong that has been done,” said Mr. Fanshaw.  “The injustice that exists.  Here is a scoundrel, a robber, in the peaceful enjoyment of your goods, while you are in want.”

“We do not envy such peace as his.  The robber has no peace.  He never dwells in security; but is always armed, and on the watch.  As for me, it has so turned out that I have never lacked for food and raiment.”

“Still, there is the abstract wrong, the evil triumphing over the good,” said Mr. Fanshaw.

“How do you reconcile that with your faith in Providence?”

“What I see clearly, as to myself,” was replied, “fully justifies the ways of God to man.  Am I the gainer or the loser by misfortune?  Clearly the gainer.  That point admits of no argument.  So, what came to me in the guise of evil, I find to be good.  God has not mocked my faith in him.  I waited patiently until he revealed himself in tender mercy; until the hand to which I clung in the dark valley led me up to the sunny hills.  No amount of worldly riches could give me the deep satisfaction I now possess.  As for the false friend who robbed me, I leave him in the hands of the all-wise Disposer of events.  He will not find, in ill-gotten gain, a blessing.  It will not make his bed soft; nor his food sweet to the taste.  A just and righteous God will trouble his peace, and make another’s possessions the burden of his life.”

“But that will not benefit you,” said Mr. Fanshaw.  “His suffering will not make good your loss.”