breath, and without sense or scruple! What a sight and a subject for
the fine friends, for whose good opinion Melchior had been so anxious?
Do you think he was as anxious now? Do you think he was troubled by
what they either saw or said; or was ashamed of the wretched prodigal
lying among the cushions? I think not. I think that for the most
foolish of us there are moments in life (of real joy or real sorrow)
when we judge things by a higher standard, and care vastly little for
what 'people say'. The only shame that Melchior felt was that his
brother should have fared so hardly in the trials and temptations of
the world outside, while he had sat at ease among the cushions of the
old coach, that had been the home of both alike. Thank GOD,
it was the home of both now! And poor Hop-o'-my-Thumb was on the front
seat at last, with Melchior kneeling at his feet, and fondly stroking
the head that rested against him.

"'Has powder come into fashion, brother?' he said. 'Your hair is
streaked with white.'

"'If it has,' said the other, laughing, 'your barber is better than
mine, Melchior, for your head is as white as snow.'

"'Is it possible? are we so old? has Time gone so very fast? But what
are you staring at through the window? I shall be jealous of that
crowd, brother.'

"'I am not looking at the crowd,' said the prodigal in a low voice;
'but I see--'

"'You see what?' said Melchior.