_PART II_.

"Father, may I come in, if you are not busy?"

It was Mary who spoke; Mary, the dear eldest daughter, now a woman
grown, grave and mild, trying hard to fill the place left empty
these two years, since Mother Golden went smiling out of life.

Father Golden looked up from his book; he was an old man now, but
his eyes were still young and kind.

"What is it, daughter Mary?"

"The same old story, father dear; Benny in mischief again. This time
he has rubbed soot on all the door-handles, and the whole house is
black with it. I hate to trouble you, father, but I expect you'll
have to speak to him. I do love the child so, I'm not strict
enough--I'm ashamed to say it, but they all think so, and I know
it's true--and Adam is too strict."

"Yes, Adam is too strict," said Father Golden. He looked at a
portrait that stood on his desk, a framed photograph of Mother Golden.

"I'll speak to the child, Mary," he said. "I'll see that this does
not happen again. What is it, Ruthie?"

"I was looking for Mary, father. I wanted--oh, Mary! what shall I do