“You may well say that,” answered Mrs. Howland, with visible emotion, “Years are sometimes crowded into as many days.  This has been my own experience.”

Both were now silent for a little while.

“And how are all the rest, mother?” asked Andrew, in a more animated voice.

“Your father has failed a good deal of late,” replied Mrs. Howland, as she partly averted her eyes, doubtful as to the effect such reference might have.

“He has failed almost as much as you have, mother,” was the unexpected reply.  “I saw him a little while ago.”

“Did you!” ejaculated Mrs. Howland, a light of pleasure and surprise breaking over her face.

“Yes; I called first at his store.”

“I’m glad you did.  Poor man!  He has had his own troubles, and, I’m afraid, is falling into difficulties again.  He has looked very unhappy for a week or two.  Last night I hardly think he slept an hour at a time, and to-day he scarcely tasted food.”

“I found him in trouble,” said Andrew, “and fortunately was able to give him the relief he needed.”

Mrs. Howland looked wonderingly into her son’s face.

“I have not come back empty-handed, mother,” said Andrew.  “A year ago, when thousands of miles from home, I heard of father’s troubles.  I was about returning to see you all again, and to make P—­my future abiding place, if I could find any honest employment; but this intelligence caused me to change my mind.  News had just been received of the wonderful discoveries of gold in California, and I said to myself, ’If there is gold to be had there, I will find it.’  I was not thinking of myself when I made this resolution, but of you and father.  In this spirit I made the long and wearisome overland journey, and for more than eight, months worked amid the golden sands of that far off region.  And my labor was not in vain.  I accumulated a large amount of grains and lumps of the precious metal, and then hurried homeward to lay the treasures at your feet.  Happily, I arrived at the most fitting time.”

Mrs. Howland was deeply affected by this relation, so strange and so unlooked for in every particular.

“And now, mother, what of Mary?” said Andrew, before time was given for any remark upon this brief narrative.  “Has she and her husband yet been reconciled to father?”

“No; and my heart has grown faint with hope deferred in relation to this matter.  I think Mary’s husband is too (sic) unyieldiug.  Your father, I know, regrets the unkind opposition he made to their marriage; and has seen many good reasons for changing his opinion of Mr. Markland’s character.  But you know his unbending disposition.  If they would yield a little—­if they would only make the first step toward a reconciliation, he would be softened in a moment.  And then, oh, how much happier would all be!”

“They must yield; they must take the first step,” said Andrew, rising from his chair.