can eke out a living somehow for the two of us."

"No," said Mrs. Wilkins decidedly. "You've got burden enough to take
care of yourself. I can get along till you're doctoring for yourself.
Mr. Inchpin will let me have the cottage near the wharf if I'll go up to
his house and cook his dinner for him. Then with a little sewing and a
little nursing here in the village, the cow, the chickens and Pilgrim, I
can get along. But I don't see how I can send you anything, Jason."

Jason had brightened perceptibly. "If I can just get through this year,
mother, I'll be on my feet. But I've got to pay Dr. Edwards back. He's a
hard driver. If we can get together enough for that, I'll manage,
somehow."

Jason's mother sighed. "It does seem as if, all through the years, I
ought to have saved something, but I haven't, not a cent, except what I
raked and scraped together for your doctoring. Two hundred and fifty
dollars a year beside donation parties is quite a sum, Jason, and I feel
guilty that I haven't saved anything for you. But it all went,
especially after father got sickly. I've sold a lot of things, Jason, so
as to send you the money. I'm most at my wit's end now. Grandma's silver
teapot, that kept you three months, and your father's watch, nearly six.
That's the way the things have gone. My, how thankful I was we had 'em."

Jason was still so very like his mother, so very unlike. Where her face
was sweet and tremulous, his was cool and still. His brown eyes were
careless and yet eager. Hers were not inscrutable now. The light had
gone out of them from weeping. Jason's long, strong hands were smooth
and quiet. Hers were knotted and work calloused and a little uncertain.

As if something in her words irritated him, Jason said quickly, "Well,
what did you and father start me on this doctor idea for, if you thought
it was going to cost too much?"

"O, Jason, you know that thought never occurred to either of us! There
are still some things to go that I've sort of hung on to. Take the St.
Bartholomew candlestick to Mr. Inchpin. That will give you the money you
need right now."

Jason looked up at the queerly wrought silver candlestick that was more
like an old oil lamp than a candlestick. His mother's people had brought
it from France with them. The family legend was that some Huguenot
ancestor had come through the massacre of St. Bartholomew with this only
relic of his home wrapped in his bosom.

"Good!" said Jason eagerly. "T