They prophesied that he would sooner or later he sorry for having anything to do with such a good-for-nothing scapegrace as Nick Lang, who would not hesitate to play some nasty practical joke on his benefactor when the notion seized him and he had grown tired of bothering with blacksmithing.
The deacon himself came to the door.

He knew both lads, and asked them to step in and sit with him before his cheery fire, as he had half an hour on his hands before starting to church.
Hugh plunged into the matter without waste of time.

He told Deacon Winslow how he had been reading that wonderful story of Jean Valjean; and then what a strange freak of fate allowed him to play the same part that the good priest had done.
Step by step he carried it along, and Deacon Winslow appeared to be deeply interested, if one could judge from the way he rubbed his hands together, and nodded his head approvingly when he learned of the motives that had influenced Hugh to act as he did.
Even what had occurred on the ice on the preceding afternoon was narrated, for, as Hugh explained, he believed it had a great deal to do with the startling event that had stunned Scranton that same Sunday morning.
When he had finally ended with a profession of his belief in Nick's innocence the old man once more nodded his head.

His wise eyes shone with a rare delight as he gazed at Hugh.

The boy could not help thinking that the good priest in the story must have been a whole lot like old Deacon Winslow; who could believe wrong of no one, boy or man, but was always finding some excuse for forgiving, even those who deceived him in business transactions.
"You have done well, my lad," said the old man warmly, patting Hugh on the arm affectionately.