t
whim has seized him. I would like the burro, and you would like the
price of him. Well, all in good time. Meanwhile, if I can help you,
please tell me."

"There was only one way in which you could, so far as I know. That was
by buying my pet. I--I don't suppose," Hallam continued, with hesitancy,
"that there is anything such a--a useless fellow as I could do to earn
money here?"

"I am not so sure about that. What sort of work would you like?"

"Any sort."

Mr. Metcalf went into another room and presently returned with some
oblong pieces of cardboard. These had a checked surface, and upon these
checks were painted or stained partial patterns, designs for the carpets
woven in the mills.

"Your father is an artist. Have you learned anything about his work, or
of coloring?"

"Something, of course, though very little. I would not be an artist."

"Indeed? But there are artisans whose work is simple, mechanical, and
reasonably lucrative. Our designers, for instance, make an excellent
living. Do you see these numbers at the sides of the patterns?"

"Yes."

"They are for the guidance of the weavers. The threads of the carpets
are numbered, and these numbers correspond. Therefore, the weaver can
make his carpet from his pattern with mathematical exactness. We require
many such copies of the original design. If you would like to try this
sort of work, I will give you a temporary job. The boy who usually does
it is ailing, and I have allowed him a vacation. The wages are small, no
more than Amy earns, but the work isn't difficult, and is the only thing
I have now, suitable for you."

Incidentally the gentleman's eyes turned toward Hallam's crutches
leaning against the arm of the chair where he sat; but instead of
feeling humiliated by the glance, as the sensitive cripple often did,
this casual one fired his heart with a new ambition. He recalled the
words of the surgeon, and was no longer angry with them.

"I will be a man in spite of it all," flashed through his brain. Aloud
he said:--

"I will be very glad to try the work."

"Very well. When can you begin?"

"Now."

Mr. Metcalf smiled.

"All right. A lad so prompt is the lad for me. But I had imagined
another sort of fellow,--not so energetic, indeed."

"I've not been worth much. I've been lazy and selfish; but I mean to
turn over a new leaf. I'll try to be useful, and if I fail--I fail."

"But you'll not fail. God never sent anybody into this world fo