r caught my meaning, but he did not smile.

"Honest," he said. "I am going to New York."

"To New York!" I cried. My crutches clattered to the floor as I sank
into my chair.

"Yes," said Tim, speaking so quietly that I knew it was the truth.
"Mr. Weston has given me a position in his store. It's a tea importing
concern, and he owns it, though he doesn't spend much time at his
business."

"I didn't think you'd leave me alone." The words were hardly spoken
till I regretted them. I had spoken in spite of my better self, for
what right had I to stand between my brother and a broader life? When
I had gone away to see the world, he had plodded on patiently in the
narrow valley to keep a home for me. Now that I was back, it was
justly his turn to go beyond the mountains and learn something more
than the dull routine of the farm and the sleepy village.

"I hate to leave you, Mark," he said. "But you have felt as I feel
about getting away and seeing something. Still, if you really want me
to stay, I'll give it up. But you are a good deal to blame. You have
told me of what you saw when you were in the army. You have showed me
that there are bigger things in this world than plodding after a
plough, and more exciting chases than those after foxes. I want to do
more than sit on a nail-keg in the store and discuss big events. I
want to have a little part in them myself--you understand."

"Yes, Tim," said I, "you are right, and I'll get along first rate."

"That's the way to talk," he cried cheerfully, slapping me on the
shoulder. "You won't be half as lonely here as I shall down there in a
strange city; and when you clean away the supper dishes and light your
pipe and think of me, I'll be lighting mine and thinking of you
and----" He stopped. Captain had trotted in, and was sitting close
by, looking first at one and then at the other of us quizzically.
"You'll have Captain," added Tim, laughing, "and then by and by, when I
am making money, you and Captain will come down to the city and we'll
all smoke our pipes together--eh, Captain?"

The hound leaped up and Tim caught his forepaws and the two went
dancing around the room until a long-drawn howl warned us that such
bipedic capers were not to the dog's liking.

"Captain isn't going to leave home, Tim," I cried. "You mustn't expect
him to take so active a part in your demonstrations of joy."

"It wasn't the delight of leaving home made me dance," returned