uite a justifiable arrangement--one who had already spent
his strength in work--but for me--of course there is nothing in the
world to do."

"And two hundred and fifty a year for the doing of it--not to speak of
the house, which you could let for fifty more."

"Father! don't you see that is just the very thing that I object to, so
much for nothing."

"You prefer nothing for nothing," said Mr. May, with a smile; "well, I
suppose that is more fair, perhaps--to the public;--but how about me? A
son of three-and-twenty depending upon me for everything, useless and
bringing in nothing, does not suit me. You are all the same," he said,
"all taking from me, with a thousand wants, education, clothes,
amusement--"

"I am sure," said the irrepressible Janey, "it is not much clothes we
get, and as for amusements--and education!"

"Hold your tongue," cried her father. "Here are six of you, one more
helpless than another, and the eldest the most helpless of all. I did
not force you into the Church. You might have gone out to James if you
had liked--but you chose an academical career, and then there was
nothing else for it. I gave you a title to orders. You are my curate
just now--so called; but you know I can't pay a curate, and you know I
can't afford to keep you. Providence--" said Mr. May, sitting up in his
chair, with a certain solemnity, "Providence itself has stepped in to
make your path clear. Here is better than a living, a provision for you.
I don't bid you take it for life; take it for a year or two till you can
hear of something better. Now what on earth is your objection to this?"

The girls had both turned their faces towards their brother. Janey,
always the first in action, repeated almost unconsciously. "Yes, what
on earth, Reginald, can be your objection to this?"

Reginald stood in the middle of the room and looked helplessly at them.
Against his father alone he might have made a stand--but when the united
family thus gazed at him with inquiring and reproachful looks, what was
he to say?

"Objection!" he faltered, "you know very well what my objection is. It
is not honest work--it is no work. It is a waste of money that might be
better employed; it is a sinecure."

"And what do you call your nominal curateship," said his father, "is not
that a sinecure too?"

"If it is," said Reginald, growing red, but feeling bolder, for here the
family veered round, and placed itself on his side, "it is of a contrary
k