o such sturdy lads, with a little
less of the precious article in their veins, might have done something
to remedy.

But his own unlucky adventure absorbed his thoughts, and he was glad
when Link vociferously demanded if he was to go and catch the mare.

"Yes! yes! do anything but kill me with that dreadful voice!" replied
the mother, waving him off with her trembling hand. "Don't infer from
what I have said," she resumed, gathering herself up again with feeble
pride, "that we are poor. Mr. Betterson will come into a large fortune
when an uncle of his dies; and he gets help from him occasionally now.
Not enough, however, to enable him to carry on a farm; and it requires
capital, you are aware, to make agriculture a respectable profession."

Jack could not forbear another hit at the big boys.

"It requires land," he said; "and that you have. It also requires bone
and muscle; and I see some here."

"True," simpered Mrs. Betterson. "But their father hasn't encouraged
them very much in doing the needful labors of the farm."

"He hasn't set us the example," broke in Rufe, piqued by Jack's remark.
"If he had taken hold of work, I suppose we should. But while he sits
down and waits for something or somebody to come along and help him,
what can you expect of us?"

"Our Betterson blood shows itself in more ways than one!" said Wad with
a grin, illustrating his remark by lazily seating himself once more on
the doorstep.

Evidently the boys were sick of hearing their mother boast of the
aristocratic family connection. She made haste to change the subject.

"Sickness has been our great scourge. The climate has never agreed with
either me or my husband. Then our poor Cecilia met with an accident a
year ago, which injured her so that she has scarcely taken a step
since."

"An accident done a-purpose!" spoke up Rufe, angrily. "Zeph Peakslow
threw her out of a swing,--the meanest trick! They're the meanest family
in the world, and there's a war between us. I'm only waiting my chance
to pay off that Zeph."

"Rufus!" pleaded the little invalid from the lounge, "you know he could
never have meant to hurt me so much. Don't talk of paying him off,
Rufus!"

"Cecie is so patient under it all!" said Mrs. Betterson. "She never
utters a word of complaint. Yet she doesn't have the care she ought to
have. With my sick baby, and my own aches and pains, what can I do?
There are no decent house-servants to be had, for love or money. O,