helped him, and kept him straight, and got him started right—and Jack Blewett is a hard-working, respected young man to-day, with every prospect of a useful and honorable life. There is hardly a man, woman, or child in White Sands who doesn’t owe something to Robert Monroe!”
As Kathleen Bell sat down, Malcolm sprang up and held out his hands.
“Every one of us stand up and sing Auld Lang Syne,” he cried.
Everybody stood up and joined hands, but one did not sing. Robert Monroe stood erect, with a great radiance on his face and in his eyes. His reproach had been taken away; he was crowned among his kindred with the beauty and blessing of sacred yesterdays.
When the singing ceased Malcolm's stern-faced son reached over and shook Robert's hands.
“Uncle Rob,” he said heartily, “I hope that when I’m sixty I'll be as successful a man as you.”
“I guess,” said Aunt Isabel, aside to the little school teacher, as she wiped the tears from her keen old eyes, “that there’s a kind of failure that’s the best success.”
