“I thank you, sir,” replied the stranger, “but I must be back as soon as possible to my family.  Can you grant us a night’s lodging, sir?”

“Certainly, sir,” replied Mr. Cleveland; “have you any means of getting your family hither?  I am told you have six little ones.”

“They must walk, sir,” replied the stranger, “for our only horse has been killed by a falling tree; but I have not a word to say.  It might have been my wife or one of my little ones, and, poor as I am, I can spare none of them.”

Mr. Cleveland, whose feelings were at this time in an usually softened state, got up, and walked rapidly to the book-case to conceal his emotion, dashed away a tear, and muttered to himself, as was his wont, “’Tis confoundedly affecting, that’s a fact.”  Then turning to the stranger, who was in the act of leaving the room, he said, “If you will wait a few moments I will have my carriage got; your wife and little ones must not walk on such a night as this.”

“God bless you, sir!” said the stranger, in a trembling voice; “but I am too uneasy to stay a moment longer.”

“Well, go on,” said Mr. Cleveland, “and the carriage shall come after you, and I will go in it myself.”  The stranger brushed his hand across his eyes, and left the room without speaking a word; while Dick and Tom exchanged glances of surprise at their master’s uncommon fit of philanthropy; Tom feeling fully assured that the “poor buckrahs,” as he termed them, owed their good fortune to his seasonable interference.

The carriage was soon in readiness, and Mr. Cleveland rode in it to the spot.  He found the family all gathered around the dead horse, and lamenting over it; while the father, having just arrived, was expatiating upon his kind reception by Mr. Cleveland.  It took them some little time to stow themselves away in the carriage, and Mr. Cleveland actually carried two sturdy children on his knees.  Yes, there he was, riding through the dreadful storm, in danger every moment from the trees which were falling all around him, with an infant in its mother’s arms squalling with all its might, and a heavy boy on each knee, and squeezed almost to death into the bargain—­for there were nine in the carriage—­and yet feeling so happy! ay, far happier than he had felt for many a long day.  Truly, charity brings its own reward.

When they arrived at Mr. Cleveland’s house, instead of being stowed away in an out-building, as the poor man had modestly requested, they were comfortably provided for beneath his own roof.  That night, as he laid his head upon his pillow, he could not help feeling surprised at his sudden accession of happiness.  “Well, I will go on,” he soliloquized; “I will pursue the path I have this night taken, and if I always feel as I do now, I am a new man, and will never again talk about blowing my brains out.”  He slept that night the sleep of peace, and rose in the morning with a light heart and buoyant spirits.