he hay, and came to
meet her. He could not command his face to his mother's eyes,
and sorrow for Will for a moment was half forgotten in sorrow
for him. As they met she put both hands upon his shoulders,
and said wistfully, "My son?" -- But that little word silenced
them both. It was only to throw their arms about each other
and hide their faces in each other's neck, and cry strange
tears; tears that are drawn from the heart's deepest well.
Slight griefs flow over the surface, with fury perhaps; but
the purest and the sweetest waters are drawn silently.

Winthrop was the first to recover himself, and was kissing his
mother with manly quietness before she could raise her head at
all. When she did, it was to return his kisses, first on one
cheek and then on the other and then on his forehead, parting
the hair from it with both hands for the purpose. It seemed as
if she would have spoken, but she did not, then, not in words.

"My boy," she said at last, "you have too hard measure laid on
you!"

"No, mother -- I don't think it so; -- there is nothing to make
me sorry in that."

"Will has got his wish," she observed presently.

"Don't you approve of it mother?"

"Yes --" she said, but as if there were many a thought before
and behind.

"_Don't_ you approve of it, mother?" Winthrop asked quickly.

"Yes, yes -- I do, -- in itself; but you know there is one wish
before all others in my mind, for him and for you, Winthrop."

He said nothing.

"Come," she said a moment after more cheerfully, "we must go
in and see how cosy and sociable we can make ourselves alone.
We must practise," -- for next winter, she was going to say,
but something warned her to stop. Winthrop turned away his
face, though he answered manfully.

"Yes mother -- I must just go over to the bank field and see
what Sam Doolittle has been at; and I've got to cut some wood;
then I'll be in."

"Will you be back by sundown?"

"I'll not be long after."

The mother gave a look towards the sun, already very near the
high western horizon, and another after Winthrop who was
moving off at a good pace; and then slowly walked back to the
house, one hand clasping its fellow in significant expression.

Karen was sitting in her clean kitchen with little Winifred on
her knees, and singing to her in a very sweet Methodist tune,

"There fairer flowers than Eden's bloom,
Nor sin nor sorrow know.
Blest seats! -- through rude and stormy seas,
I onward pres