casual inquiry. If I wanted the fellow, he was only too glad to let me
keep him. And who, indeed, would look for a notorious criminal in a
Parish House Guest Room? Who would connect that all too common
occurrence, a tramp maimed by the railroad, with, the mysterious
disappearance of the cracksman, Slippy McGee? So, for the present, I
could feel sure that the man was safe.

And in the meantime, in the orderly proceeding of everyday life, while
he gained strength under my mother's wise and careful nursing and
Westmoreland's wise and careful overseeing, there came to him those
who were instruments for good--my mother first, whom, like Clélie, he
never called anything but "Madame" and whom, like Clélie, he presently
obeyed with unquestioning and childlike readiness. Now, Madame is a
truly wonderful person when she deals with people like him. Never for
a moment lowering her own natural and beautiful dignity, but without a
hint of condescension, Madame manages to find the just level upon
which both can stand as on common ground; then, without noise, she
helps, and she conveys the impression that thus noiselessly to help is
the only just, natural and beautiful thing for any decent person to
do, unless, perhaps, it might be to receive in the like spirit.

Judge Mayne's son, Laurence, full of a fresh and boyish enthusiasm,
was such another instrument. He had a handsome, intelligent face, a
straight and beautiful body, and the pleasantest voice in the world.
His mother in her last years had been a fretful invalid, and to meet
her constant demands the judge and his son had developed an angelic
patience with weakness. They were both rather quiet and
undemonstrative, this father and son; the older man, in fact had a
stern visage at first glance, until one learned to know it as the face
of a man trained to restraint and endurance. As for the boy, no one