f the delight of throwing his
first fee into dear mamma's lap, when they were just married, and his
old uncle had given up to him, and how he had brought them to her ever
since; he said she had spoiled him by taking all trouble off his hands.
He looked at it, as if it was so sorrowful to him to have to dispose
of it, that I begged him not to plague himself any more, but let me see
about it, as dear mamma used to do; so he said I was spoiling him too,
but he brought me the drawer, and emptied it out here: when he was gone,
I packed it up, and I have been waiting to ask Richard to take it all to
the bank, out of his sight."

"You counted it?" said Richard.

"Yes--there's fifty--I kept seventeen towards the week's expenses. Just
see that it is right," said Margaret, showing her neat packets.

"Oh, Ritchie," said Ethel, "what can expense signify, when all that has
been kicking about loose in an open drawer? What would not one of those
rolls do?"

"I think I had better take them out of your way," said Richard quietly.
"Am I to bring back the book to you, Margaret?"

"Yes, do," said Margaret; "pray do not tease him with it." And as her
brother left the room, she continued, "I wish he was better. I think he
is more oppressed now than even at first. The pain of his arm, going on
so long, seems to me to have pulled him down; it does not let him sleep,
and, by the end of the day, he gets worn and fagged by seeing so many
people, and exerting himself to talk and think; and often, when there is
something that must be asked, I don't know how to begin, for it seems as
if a little more would be too much for him."

"Yes, Richard is right," said Ethel mournfully; "it will not do to press
him about our concerns; but do you think him worse to-day?"

"He did not sleep last night, and he is always worse when he does not
drive out into the country; the fresh air, and being alone with Richard,
are a rest for him. To-day is especially trying; he does not think poor
old Mr. Southern will get through the evening, and he is so sorry for
the daughter."

"Is he there now?"

"Yes; he thought of something that might be an alleviation, and he would
go, though he was tired. I am afraid the poor daughter will detain him,
and he is not fit to go through such things now."

"No, I hope he will soon come; perhaps Richard will meet him. But, oh,
Margaret, what do you think Richard and I have been talking of?" and,
without perception of fit times