"Yes, sir," said I.

Then he showed the ring to me and asked if I had seen it before.

I at once recognized the ring as my mother's. Since I could remember she
had worn it, until recently. Of late she had grown so much thinner that the
ring would no longer stay on her finger, and she was accustomed, therefore,
to keep the circlet in a small drawer of her dresser, secure in an old
purse with some heirlooms of coins; and I was greatly surprised that it
should be in the possession of this stranger. I told him that it was my
mother's ring, and asked him how he came by it.

"Your father put it up in a little game the other day," said he, "and it
fell into my possession." He dropped the ring into his purse, which he then
closed with a snap. "I have been trying for several days to see your father
and give him a chance at the ring before I turned it in to the
pawnbroker's. If your mother has any feeling in the matter, tell her she
can get the ring for ten dollars," he added as he turned away.

I did not know what to do. I was so ashamed and hurt to think that my
father, whom I loved and in whom I had such implicit confidence, should
have gambled away my mother's ring, the very ring--I was old enough to
appreciate--he had given her in pledging to her his love. My eyes filled
with tears, and as I stood, hesitating, Mr. Blodget came forward,
admonishing me not to forget my parcels. He evidently observed my tears,
although I turned my face the other way, for shame of crying. At any rate,
he put his hand on my shoulder and said very kindly:--

"It's pretty tough, Carter, my boy, isn't it?"