erve afresh to keep them where she
could not see and could but dimly enjoy them; but she was
willing. There were no words of regret; and thoughts of sorrow
lay with thoughts of love at the bottom of their hearts, too
fast-bound together and too mighty to shew themselves except
in action.

The money was borrowed easily, upon a mortgage of the farm.
President Tuttle was written to, and a favourable answer
received. There was a foundation at Shagarack, as well as at
Mannahatta; and Will and Winthrop could be admitted there on
somewhat easier terms than were granted to those who could
afford better. Some additions were made to their scanty
wardrobe from Mr. Cowslip's store; and at home unwearied days
and nights were given to making up the new, and renewing and
refurbishing the old and the worn. Old socks were re-toed and
refooted; old trousers patched so that the patch could not be
seen; the time-telling edges of collars and wristbands done
over, so that they would last awhile yet; mittens knitted, and
shirts made. It was a little wardrobe when all was done; yet
how much time and care had been needed to bring it together.
It was a dear one too, though it had cost little money; for it
might almost be said to have been made of the heart's gold.
Poor Winifred's love was less wise than her mother's, for it
could not keep sorrow down. As yet she did not know that it
was not better to sit at her father's board end than at either
end of the highest form at Shagarack. She knitted, socks and
stockings, all the day long, when her mother did not want her;
but into them she dropped so many tears that the wool was
sometimes wet with them; and as Karen said, half mournfully
and half to hide her mourning, "they wouldn't want shrinking."
Winthrop came in one day and found her crying in the chimney
corner, and taking the half-knit stocking from her hand he
felt her tears in it.

"My little Winnie! --" he said, in that voice with which he
sometimes spoke his whole heart.

Winifred sprang to his neck and closing her arms there, wept
as if she would weep her life away. And Rufus who had followed
Winthrop in, stood beside them, tear after tear falling
quietly on the hearth. Winthrop's tears nobody knew but
Winifred, and even in the bitterness of her distress she felt
and tasted them all.

The November days seemed to grow short and drear with deeper
shadows than common, as the last were to see the boys go off
for Shagarack. The fingers