imidity. He really "talked up" to Jim.
He was so fair and with the sort of sweet expression that was considered
girlish, and kept himself so very neat, that he was different from most
boys. I don't suppose his mother ever realized how much mortification
and persecution it had cost him.

She still toiled from morning to night. Charles began to wish she would
wear a pretty gown and collar and a white apron at supper time instead
of the dreadful faded ginghams. Everything had a faded look with her,
she washed her clothes so often, swept her carpets, and scrubbed her
oil-cloths so much. The only thing she couldn't fade was the
window-glass.

Charles and his father had grown quite confidential. They had talked
about school and college.

"Though I am afraid I don't want to be a minister," said Charles,
drawing a long breath as if he had given utterance to a very wicked
thought.

"You shall have your own choice about it," replied his father firmly.
"And there's no hurry."

It had been such a pleasure to walk down-town every morning with his
father. Broadway was fresh and clean, and the breeze came up from the
river at every corner. There were not so many people nor factories, and
there were still some lots given over to grassy spaces and shrubs.
Walking to business was considered quite the thing then.

He had a great deal to tell Hanny about "our" store, and what "we" were
doing. The new beautiful stock that was coming in, for then it took from
twelve to sixteen days to cross the ocean, and you had to order quite in
advance. He had learned to play several tunes on the accordeon, and he
hoped his father would let him take his four weeks' wages and buy one.
And Mr. Gerard had said he should be very happy to have all the girls
and their mothers come down some afternoon.

"And if Daisy only could go!"

"Isn't she beautiful?" said Charles. "She looks like an angel. Her short
golden hair is like the glory they put around the saints and the
Saviour, an aureole they call it."

"What a beautiful word."

"I thought at first she would die. But your brother is sure she will
live now. Only it's such a pity----" the boy's voice faltered a little
from intense sympathy.

Hanny sighed too. She knew what he meant to say. But the children
refrained from giving it a name. "Hanny, I think it's just splendid to
be a doctor. To help people and encourage them when you can't cure them.
He said one night when he stopped at the Deans that