After sunset old Michael Johnson came slowly home and sat down in his
customary chair. He said nothing to Sam; nor do I know that a single
word ever passed between them on the subject of the son's disobedience.
In a few years his father died, and left Sam to fight his way through
the world by himself. It would make our story much too long were I to
tell you even a few of the remarkable events of Sam's life. Moreover,
there is the less need of this, because many books have been written
about that poor boy, and the fame that he acquired, and all that he did
or talked of doing after he came to be a man.

But one thing I must not neglect to say. From his boyhood upward until
the latest day of his life he never forgot the story of Uttoxeter
market. Often when he was a scholar of the University of Oxford, or
master of an academy at Edial, or a writer for the London booksellers,--
in all his poverty and toil and in all his success,--while he was
walking the streets without a shilling to buy food, or when the greatest
men of England were proud to feast him at their table,--still that heavy
and remorseful thought came back to him, "I was cruel to my poor father
in his illness!" Many and many a time, awake or in his dreams, he
seemed to see old Michael Johnson standing in the dust and confusion of
the market-place and pressing his withered hand to his forehead as if it
ached.

Alas! my dear children, it is a sad thing to have such a thought as this
to bear us company through life.

Though the story was but half finished, yet, as it was longer than
usual, Mr. Temple here made a short pause. He perceived that Emily was
in tears, and Edward turned his half-veiled face towards the speaker
with an air of great earnestness and interest. As for George, he had