Stories Worth Rereading. Various

them all! I want to show them the old stall in the barn, where, twenty-five years ago, I picked their father up in my arms early one spring morning as he lay fast asleep on the neck of the old cow over whose expiring breath he had nearly broken his poor little heart."

      * * * * *

      "Yes, father, of course it has paid to come down here. I would not have missed it for all the unanimous votes of the third ballot that sent me East," declared the United States senator at the end of his three days' visit. Long ago, the Hon. Henry Aldis had fallen into the habit of addressing Dr. Layton, in his letters, by the paternal title.

      "It does not seem possible that it is twenty years since I stood here, saying good-by when I started West. By the way, do you remember what you told me that memorable night when the lamented Brindle laid down her life because of my carelessness, and her own gluttony? I was standing at the horse's head, and you were sitting in your buggy, there at the carriage steps, and I said I wished you would horsewhip me, instead of treating me so kindly. I remember you reached over and tickled my neck with the lash playfully, and told me there was no use in thrashing a fellow who was all broken up, anyway, over an accident."

      The doctor laughed as he held his arms more closely about the shoulders of

       Senator Aldis's two eldest boys; while "Grandmother Layton," with little

       Ted in her lap, was dreaming again of the little form that had long, long

       ago been laid in the graveyard on the hillside.

      "Yes, yes," said the doctor, "I remember. What a blessed thing it was I did not send you off that day to the tune the old cow died on," and he laughed through his tears.

      "Blessed!" echoed Mrs. Layton, putting down the wriggling Ted. "It was providential. You know, Harry, I was not so kind-hearted as John in those days and I thought he ought to send you off. But he declared he would not, even if you had cost him two cows. He said that if he did it might cost the world a man. And so it would have, if all they say you are doing out West for clean government is true."

      Senator Aldis laughed, and kissed the old lady.

      "I do not know about that," he said modestly. "I am of the opinion that he might have saved more of a man for the world; but certain it is, he saved whatever manhood there was in that boy from going to waste by his noble act of kindness. But what I remember most, father, is what you told me, there at the carriage step, that when I became a rich man, I could pay you for that cow. Well, I am not exactly a rich man, for I am not in politics for all the money I can get out of it, but I am getting a better income than my leaving that barn door open would justify any one in believing I ever could get by my brains; so now I can pay that long-standing debt without inconvenience. It may come handy for you to have a little fund laid by, since the Union Bank went to smash, and all your stock with it, and so much of your other funds went to pay the poor depositors of that defunct institution. It was just like you, father, not to dodge the assessments, as so many of the stockholders did, by putting all your property in your wife's name. So, since you made one investment twenty-five years ago that has not seemed to depreciate in value very much—an investment in a raw young boy who did not have enough gumption to fasten a barn door—here is the interest on what the investment was worth to the boy, at least a little of it; for I can never begin to pay it all. Good-by, both of you, and may God bless you! Here comes our carriage, Helen."

      When the dust of the departing hack had filtered through the morning sunlight, two pairs of tear-dimmed eyes gazed at the slip of blue paper in Dr. Layton's hand—a check for five thousand dollars.

      "We saved a man that time, sure enough!" murmured the old doctor softly.—Emma S. Allen in the Wellspring.

      * * * * *

      Brotherly Kindness

      A man may make a few mistakes,

       Regardless of his aim.

       But never, never criticize

       And cloud him o'er with blame;

       For all have failed in many things

       And keenly feel the smarting stings,

       Which haunt the mind by day and night

       Till they have made offenses right.

      So liberal be with those you meet

       E'en though they may offend,

       And wish them well as on they go

       Till all the journey end.

       Sometimes we think our honor's hurt

       When some one speaks a little pert;

       But never mind, just hear the good,

       And ever stand where Patience stood.

      Look for the good, the true, the grand

       In those you wish to shun,

       And you will be surprised to find

       Some good in every one;

       Then help the man who makes mistakes

       To rise above his little quakes,

       To build anew with courage strong,

       And fit himself to battle wrong.

JOHN FRANCIS OLMSTED