happy home had been rudely invaded, and a grasping, avaricious enemy
had shown himself where she expected to find a friend.

"I don't want to distress you, Mr. Toodlebug, I don't," said Chapman,
keeping his keen eyes fixed on Hanz. "I don't want to distress you, I
don't. But you must show that you are an honest man. Honesty is the best
policy. I've always found it so, at least. You must make this thing all
right, if it takes all you have to do it." When he had said this he put
on his hat and rudely took his departure.

"Angeline, mine Angeline," said Hanz, "if dish bat man should make me
loose mine goot name, den mine life it pees very misherable. What I toes
I toes t' oplige t' gentleman. How I toes wish mine Tite, mine poor poy
Tite, vas here." He sat thoughtfully in his chair for several minutes,
then sought consolation for his wounded feelings in a pipe.

Chapman had not been long gone when Mattie came rolicking into the
house, as if to form a bright and sunny contrast with the scene that had
just ended. She carried a little basket in her hand, was dressed in a
flowing white skirt and sack, wore a broad sun hat encircled with a blue
ribbon, and her golden hair was decorated with wild flowers. There was
something so fascinating in that merry, laughing voice, something so
pure, innocent, and girlish in that simple dress and that sweet, smiling
face, that it seemed as if Heaven had ordained her to represent truth
and goodness. Setting the basket down on the table she ran to Angeline,
embraced and kissed her, not perceiving that trouble had depressed that
good woman's spirits.

"And you, too, good Father Hanz," she said, turning to him, and saluting
him in her free, frank manner; "you shall have a kiss, too." And she