intenance when her time and
labor was not theirs; and she knew that her education was too limited
to seek a larger sphere of action. So she covered her bright young
face with her hands, and it was clouded for a time with deep thought;
then looking suddenly up, the boy wondered at the change which had
passed over it, there was so much joy, even exultation in every
feature.

"I have it," said she, throwing her arms fondly about his neck. "I
know how I can earn a deal of money, more than I want. If mother will
let me, I can go to Lowell and work in a factory. Susan Hunt paid the
mortgage on her father's farm in three years; and I'm sure it would
not take any more for you than she earned."

At first the boy's heart beat wildly; for the moment it seemed as if
his dearest wishes were about to be accomplished. Then came a feeling
of reproach at his own selfishness, in gaining independence by dooming
his fair young sister to a life of constant labor and self-denial;
wasting, or at least passing the bright hours of her girlhood in the
midst of noise and heat, with rude associations for her refined and
gentle nature.

"Oh! no, Mary," said he, passionately--"never, never! You are too
good, too generous!" yet the wish of his life was too strong to be
checked at once; and when Mary pleaded, and urged him to consent to
it, and gave a thousand "woman's reasons" why it was best, and how
easy the task would be to her, when lightened by the consciousness
that she was aiding him to take a lofty place among his fellow-men, he
gave a reluctant consent to the plan, ashamed of himself the while,
and dreading lest his parents should oppose what would seem to their
calmer judgment an almost impossible scheme.

Day after day he had begged Mary to delay asking their consent, though
the suspense was an agony to the enthusiastic boy. Mary knew the
disappointment would be terrible; yet she thought if it was to come,
it had best be over with at once; and, beside, she was more hopeful
than her brother, for she had not so much at stake. Was it any wonder,
then, that James could scarce breathe while his sister calmly told
their plans, and that he dared not look into his mother's face when
the recital was ended.

There was no word spoken for some moments--the deacon looked into his
wife's face, as if he did not fully understand what he had been
listening to, and sought the explanation from her; but she gazed
intently at the fire, revealing nothing