your son, Uncle 'Liph. No one shall ever come between us; no, not even the man I should call father."
"He is yore father, Freddie. It's jest like I told Hester. She was fur sendin' him along." In spite of himself, a pang shot through Brent's heart at this. "But I said, 'No, no, Hester, he's Fred's father an' we must take him in, fur our boy's sake.'"
"Not for my sake, not for my sake!" broke out the young man.
"Well, then, fur our Master's sake. We took him in. He was mighty low down. It seemed like the Lord had jest spared him to git here. Hester's with him now, an'— an'— kin you stand to hear it?—the doctor says he's only got a little while to live."
"Oh, I can stand it," Brent replied, with unconscious irony. The devotion and the goodness of the old man had softened him as thought, struggle, and prayer had failed to do.
"Will you go in now?" asked Eliphalet. "He wants to see you: he can't die in peace without."
The breath came hard between his teeth as Brent replied, "I said I would n't see him. I came because I thought you needed me."
"He's yore father, Freddie, an' he's peni-
