omfortable to behold. She stood watching him
with gloomy tenderness until he stirred uneasily, his consciousness
roused by the intentness of her thought, and the mysterious current
that flowed from her wistful, eager eyes.

But when the lad waked, it was to a joyful sense of manliness and
responsibility; for him the change of surroundings was coming through
natural processes of growth, not through the uprooting which gave his
mother such an aching heart.

A little later Elisha came out to the breakfast-table, arrayed in his
best sandy-brown clothes set off with a bright blue satin cravat,
which had been the pride and delight of pleasant Sundays and rare
holidays. He already felt unrelated to the familiar scene of things,
and was impatient to be gone. For one thing, it was strange to sit
down to breakfast in Sunday splendor, while his mother and grandfather
and little sister Lydia were in their humble every-day attire. They
ate in silence and haste, as they always did, but with a new
constraint and awkwardness that forbade their looking at one another.
At last the head of the household broke the silence with simple
straightforwardness.

"You've got an excellent good day, 'Lisha. I like to have a fair start
myself. 'T ain't goin' to be too hot; the wind's working into the
north a little."

"Yes, sir," responded Elisha.

"The great p'int about gittin' on in life is bein' able to cope with
your headwinds," continued the old man earnestly, pushing away his
plate. "Any fool can run before a fair breeze, but I tell ye a good
seaman is one that gits the best out o' his disadvantages. You won't
be treated so pretty as you expect in the store, and you'll git plenty
o' blows to your pride; but you keep right ahead, and if you can't run
before the wind you can always beat. I ain't no hand to preach, but
preachin' ain't goin' to sarve ye now. We've gone an' fetched ye up
the best we could, your mother an' me, an' you can't never say but
you've started amongst honest folks. If a vessel's built out o' sound
timber an' has got good lines for sailin', why then she's seaworthy;
but if she ain't, she ain't; an' a mess o' preachin' ain't goin' to
alter her over. Now you're standin' out to sea, my boy, an' you can
bear your home in mind and work your way, same's plenty of others has
done."

It was a solemn moment; the speaker's voice faltered, and little Lydia
dried her tearful blue eyes with her gingham apron. Elisha hung his
head