"Who, and where is he?" asked the miller.

"He is an Irishman named Coyle, who has been working about here for some time as a common laborer. It is only a few weeks since I was talking with him about his circumstances, and he expressed himself very desirous of getting into a situation where he would be less exposed to the weather and have a more certain income. He lives about a quarter of a mile from here; suppose you call and see him."

"If I were not in such a hurry to get back home," replied the miller, "I would call on him. But I think I may venture to take him on your recommendation."

"Then I will send him over," said Mr. Howard. "I think you'll find him just the man you want. A little awkward, at first, no doubt, but he'll come into your ways and make a valuable assistant."

The miller went on his way, and Mr. Howard sought Jim Coyle, not, it must be owned, without some misgivings as to the Irishman's fitness for the place. Jim was in ecstasies at his promised good fortune, and called upon all the saints in the calendar to shower their blessings on the head of his benefactor. On the next day he went over to the mill with a note from Mr. Howard, and secured the place. The miller was very far from being favorably impressed at first sight, but he knew Mr. Howard very well, had confidence in him, and took his word against his own impressions.

One week after Jim Coyle entered upon his new employment, the miller, who had found him not only stupid, but unreliable, where strict accuracy was important, ventured to leave him in charge of the mill while he went to the landing, two miles distant, to see about some grain he designed purchasing. Very particular directions were given to Coyle about observing the hoppers, lest they should become empty. The head of water was even, the millstones carefully adjusted, and the only thing required was to see that the hoppers were supplied with grain. To make Coyle thoroughly understand what he had to do, the miller, before leaving, took him to the garners above the grinding floor, and explained to him that he must keep the grain well heaped up over the feeding spouts.

For half an hour after the miller left, Coyle stalked about the mill, up stairs and down, with quite a feeling of self-consequence at being in sole charge of the establishment. Walking out, at length, upon the forebay, his eyes were attracted by a multitude of fish swimming about in clear water. He had done some little fishing in the mill-dam since his change of residence, and the sight of two or three large sun-fish threw his mind into quite an excitement. His rod and line, which were in the mill, were brought into immediate requisition, and Jim's vocation changed from that of miller to angler. Millstones, hopper, garner, grain, and all that appertained to miller-craft, vanished from the thoughts of Coyle. He had made a dozen finny captives, and was just casting his hook again, when a terrific explosion in the mill caused him to spring full five feet in the air; a crash and jar followed which seemed as if it would shatter the building to its very foundation.

With an exclamation of terror, Jim started off, running at a wild speed; and but for the timely arrival of neighbors, the building would have been consumed by fire.

The hopper above one of the pairs of millstones had become empty, and the resistance of the grain being lost, the stone revolved with such an increased speed that fire was struck out in the friction of the upper upon the lower stone, and this had set the wood-work surroundings in a blaze. The explosion was occasioned by the bursting of the upper millstone, consequent upon its great velocity. The fragment thrown off weighed over six hundred pounds, and it struck the wall of the building with such violence as to shatter it seriously. The fire was readily extinguished; but the injury occasioned by Jim Coyle's neglect of duty in a position of responsibility, cost the miller over a hundred dollars to repair. It might have cost him thousands.

Thus much for Mr. Howard's benevolent, but ill-advised attempt to improve the condition of an Irishman who was filling the highest position he could occupy with safety to the interest of others, and who complained of a lot that was the best for him, all things considered.

And so ended the work of this poor man's benefactor, who gave up the case as a hopeless one, and retired ingloriously from the field.

But Mr. Strong's success stimulated him to further efforts in behalf of the "rich repiner," whose unhappy condition had awakened his sympathies. There could be no peace of mind for him while he lived in angry estrangement from his child, and his benefactor's next effort had in view a reconciliation.

In pursuance of his general purpose, Mr. Strong threw himself frequently into Mr. Logan's way, and showed an intelligent interest in all his affairs that came into view. After a while, Mr. Logan began to talk with him about himself and his affairs more freely than to any other living man. He was naturally suspicious of those who approached him with any degree of familiarity, but Mr. Strong had managed to disarm him, and he was entirely off his guard. He believed the conveyancer to be a true, disinterested friend, and he was right. He was always pleased to converse with Mr. Strong, who had a manly, straightforward, common-sense way of looking at things, and who could demolish a false position, or dissolve a sophism, in such fitting words, that truth became self-evident. To himself, Mr. Logan acknowledged the correction of more than one erroneous view of life, in acting upon which he had aforetimes met sad disappointments.

One day, some three or four months after the completion of the cottages, Mr. Logan and Mr. Strong stood together upon a gently rising piece of ground not far from the academy conducted by his son-in-law, between whom and himself not a word had passed since the day of his daughter's marriage. The piece of ground was owned by Mr. Logan.

"Why don't you build here?" asked Mr. Strong. "I have always thought this one of the most beautiful sites in the neighborhood."

"It is a beautiful site," replied Mr. Logan; "but why should I build here?" He looked at Mr. Strong as he said this, as if he suspected that there was something in his mind.

"It would be such a handsome improvement," was suggested, "and if the house were not too costly it would readily find a purchaser."

A shadow darkened over the rich man's face. Mr. Strong saw his lips close tightly, and noticed that his hands were shut, and that the fingers worked uneasily against the palms.

"No, sir," he answered, with marked feeling--"no, sir; I will not sell this property, sir!" and he turned suddenly upon Mr. Strong, his countenance showing much agitation. "Sir! I bought this piece of ground more than twenty-six years ago--bought it on the day my daughter was one year old--bought it for her!" The muscles of his face quivered almost convulsively. He paused, still looking at his companion steadily--"No, sir"--more emphatically, "I will not sell this lot so long as I live!"

This was a revelation not expected by Mr. Strong. He saw deeper into the heart of the rich man than he had ever seen before, and gained a knowledge of what he knew would give him increased power over him--a power that he meant to use only for good.

They walked down from that greenly swelling eminence in silence, and neither spoke again until they had reached a point where their ways divided. Then, as they stood still again, Mr. Strong said--

"You are right, sir--do not sell that property; but"--and he looked earnestly at Mr. Logan--"for all that, build!"

They had clasped hands, as friends do, about parting. Nothing more was then said; but they looked at each other steadily for a few moments, hand closed tightly upon hand--then the grip was relaxed, they turned from one another, and each went his own way.

"Build--build!" murmured the rich man to himself as he walked slowly homeward; "what does he mean?" Some light must have dawned upon his mind, giving birth to a purpose; for one day, about three weeks afterward, as Mr. Strong was passing in the neighborhood of the ground just mentioned, he was surprised to see half a dozen men busily at work. On approaching nearer, he perceived that they were digging for the foundation of a house.

"So you are going to build," said he to Mr. Logan, on meeting him two or three days afterward.

"Yes; your suggestion pleased me on reflection. The spot is beautifully situated, and I mean to improve it handsomely."

As Mr. Logan did not seem disposed to communicate any thing further at the time, Mr. Strong was careful not to press him with any questions.

Steadily the new improvement went on; and at the end of four or five months an elegant and commodious house stood forth in all its fair proportions. Then the grounds were laid out in the most tasteful style, choice shade and fruit trees were planted, and vines and shrubbery scattered around in liberal profusion. It seemed as if Mr. Logan did not know where to rest the work of ornament.

One day he was standing alone on the piazza of the house, looking over a grassy lawn that stretched away to a pleasant little summer-house, against which newly planted vines were just beginning to spread out their delicate green leaves, when a little boy, about six years old, came singing along one of the gravelled walks. The child did not see Mr. Logan until he came within a few feet of him. Then he stood still and looked up into his face. He had dark, lustrous blue eyes, a broad, white forehead, and a soft, loving mouth. At first there was a startled look in the child's countenance, and a shadow like fear in his eyes; but these vanished in a moment; he came a step or two nearer, still looking up at Mr. Logan; then paused again and said, in a musical voice, and in a free, confident way,

"Ain't you my grandpa?"

Nothing could have taken Mr. Logan more by surprise than this question. In the hardness of his heart he had refused even to notice his daughter's children, although their grandmother occasionally brought one and another of them home with her, in the faint hope that their presence might stir in his heart some tender emotions. But Mr. Logan had suspected her motive, and so held himself sternly aloof. He did not, therefore, know this child when its tender little face was first uplifted to his. But the word "grandpa" went like an electric throb to the centre of being. There was no mistaking the child--his daughter's eyes looked up into his. A strange softness came over him, a tenderness that seemed foreign to his nature; his heart swelled in his bosom; his vision was dimmed. For some moments he stood looking at the fair creature before him, with no answer upon his tongue. Then sitting down he reached out both hands, and the child came and laid his soft little hands within them, still looking up, half doubtingly, half lovingly, in the old man's face.

"Ain't you my grandpa?" The question was repeated more earnestly than at first.

The fingers of Mr. Logan closed tightly on the little hands that lay within them, and bending down, he left a kiss on the boy's pure forehead.

"I knew you was my grandpa," said the child innocently, and he began stroking Mr. Logan's beard and patting his cheeks in a fond, familiar way. Every touch of that little hand was like a giant's stroke against the ice barrier which pride, selfishness, and avarice had built up between him and his long estranged daughter--and in a few moments it lay upon the earth in ruins.

"Who's going to live here, grandpa?" asked the little one. Now that he had made terms with the stern old man, at whom he had only looked, heretofore, timidly, and at a distance, the questioning spirit of childhood began to run free.

"Somebody," replied Mr. Logan, giving a smile of encouragement.

"Who is somebody?" was asked, with that earnestness we see in children.

"You shall know one of these days," and Mr. Logan moved his hand caressingly over the little one's head, and played musingly with the soft curls of his sunny hair.

"Willie! Willie!" a voice in anxious tones suddenly startled the old man. He looked around, but saw no one.

"Here I am, mamma," answered back the child, without stirring from his place. In the next moment a woman, with a half-frightened face, came into view around one of the angles of the house, and stood still within a few feet of Mr. Logan. She clasped her hands and looked at him with a surprised, eager, hopeful expression on her countenance, as fixed, for a moment, as a marble statue. She had come at the right time. Mr. Logan extended his arms and said--