AT HOME

Mr. Frost's farm was situated about three-quarters of a mile from the
village. It comprised fifty acres, of which twenty were suitable for
tillage, the remainder being about equally divided between woodland and
pasture.

Mr. Frost had for some years before his marriage been a painter, and had
managed to save up from his earnings not far from a thousand dollars.
Thinking, however, that farming would be more favorable to health, he
purchased his fifty-acre farm for twenty-eight hundred dollars, payable
one thousand down, and the rest remaining on mortgage. At the date of
our story he had succeeded in paying up the entire amount within eight
hundred dollars, a mortgage for that amount being held by Squire Haynes.
He had not been able to accomplish this without strict economy, in which
his wife had cheerfully aided him.

But his family had grown larger and more expensive. Besides Frank, who
was the oldest, there were now three younger children--Alice, twelve
years of age; Maggie, ten; and Charlie, seven.

The farmhouse was small but comfortable, and the family had never been
tempted to sigh for a more costly or luxurious home. They were happy and
contented, and this made their home attractive.

On the evening succeeding that of the war meeting, Frank was seated
in the common sitting-room with his father and mother. There was a
well-worn carpet on the floor, a few plain chairs were scattered about
the room, and in the corner ticked one of the old-fashioned clocks such
as used to be the pride of our New England households. In the center
of the room stood a round table, on which had been set a large
kerosene-lamp, which diffused a cheerful light about the apartment.

On a little table, over which hung a small mirror, were several papers
and magazines. Economical in most things, Mr. Frost was considered by
many of his neighbors extravagant in this. He subscribed regularly
for Harper's Magazine and Weekly, a weekly agricultural paper, a daily
paper, and a child's magazine.

"I don't see how you can afford to buy so much reading-matter," said a
neighbor, one day. "It must cost you a sight of money. As for me, I only
take a weekly paper, and I think I shall have to give that up soon."

"All my papers and magazines cost me in a year, including postage,
is less than twenty dollars," said Mr. Frost quietly. "A very slight
additional economy in dress--say three dollars a year to each of us will
pay that. I think my w