mother's common sense.

"Yes; and I've got to earn it. But I can--I know I can, for I've saved
some, and I shall work like ten beavers all summer. I won't borrow if
I can help it, but I know someone who would lend me five hundred if I
wanted it;" and Ralph looked as eager and secure as if the earning of
twice that sum was a mere trifle when all the longing of his life was
put into his daily tasks.

"I wish I had it to give you. It must be so splendid to feel that you
can do great things if you only have the chance. And to travel, and see
all the lovely pictures and statues, and people and places in Italy. How
happy you must be!" and Merry's eyes had the wistful look they always
wore when she dreamed dreams of the world she loved to live in.

"I am--so happy that I'm afraid it never will happen. If I do go, I'll
write and tell you all about the fine sights, and how I get on. Would
you like me to?" asked Ralph, beginning enthusiastically and ending
rather bashfully, for he admired Merry very much, and was not quite sure
how this proposal would be received.

"Indeed I should! I'd feel so grand to have letters from Paris and
Rome, and you'd have so much to tell it would be almost as good as going
myself," she said, looking off into the daffodil sky, as they paused
a minute on the hill-top to get breath, for both had walked as fast as
they talked.

"And will you answer the letters?" asked Ralph, watching the innocent
face, which looked unusually kind and beautiful to him in that soft
light.

"Why, yes; I'd love to, only I shall not have anything interesting to
say. What can I write about?" and Merry smiled as she thought how dull
her letters would sound after the exciting details his would doubtless
give.

"Write about yourself, and all the rest of the people I know. Grandma
will be gone, and I shall want to hear how you get on." Ralph looked
very anxious indeed to hear, and Merry promised she would tell all
about the other people, adding, as she turned from the evening peace and
loveliness to the house, whence came the clatter of milk-pans and the
smell of cooking,--

"I never should have anything very nice to tell about myself, for I
don't do interesting things as you do, and you wouldn't care to hear
about school, and sewing, and messing round at home."

Merry gave a disdainful little sniff at the savory perfume of ham which
saluted them, and paused with her hand on the gate, as if she found it
pleasanter out