have it; I ain't a poor invalid
any longer."

"Well, it isn't to benefit you only, father," chimed in Bella eagerly;
"we think it will be best for all of us, and I think you'll think so too.
Go on, Tom."

"Well," said Tom, "it's this,--that you go in to the shop every day with
Bella; you can keep accounts and do that sort of thing better than I can,
and----" he broke off suddenly, almost startled by the look of pleasure
which broke over his father's face, the sudden lightening of the sadness
which, unconsciously, always showed now in his eyes. To be at work again!
to be able to give real help, to be a working partner! To the man who had
for so long borne an enforced idleness, who had had to sit by and see
others work beyond their strength because he could do nothing to help--it
seemed too good to be true, a happiness almost too great. "Do the work?"
Of course he could do it. It would put new life into him to be a man
again and worker.

"But what about you, Tom? It would be a bitter disappointment to give it
up, wouldn't it?"

"Disappointment?" cried Tom; "why, there's nothing I'd like better.
You see, if you can be in the shop, I can stay at home and give all my
time to the garden, instead of having only the evenings after I get back.
Then Aunt Emma and Charlie and I can look after things here; and, if we
run this place, and you and Bella run the other, we ought to get on A1.
Don't you agree, everybody?"

Tom gained courage as he went on, and, indeed, his father's undisguised
pleasure in the plan was enough to encourage any one. But Tom was
cautious too. He put all the arguments before his father, as though he
had shown reluctance, and had to be won over; for what they wanted, above
all things, was to make him feel that his help was really needed.
He succeeded in his aim, too, and without any help from Bella, for the
pathos of her father's joy brought a lump into her throat and a mist
before her eyes that prevented her speaking a word.

"I think I'll go for a little stroll," she said quietly, when she rose
from the table, and something in her voice and face prevented any one from
hindering her. Out through the garden she went, and along the quiet road,
where the soft mist of evening was creeping up and the birds were calling
their last good-nights. On she went, and on, until she reached the old
grey church, standing so protectingly in the midst of the green graves,
which seemed to nestle about its sides