Or was it the
spirit of Gudule, their mother, that lived in them?

After Gudule's death, her eldest brother, the then owner of the grange,
came over to discuss the future of his sister's children. He wished
Ephraim and Viola to go with him to his home in Lower Bohemia, where he
could find them occupation. The children, however, were opposed to the
idea. They had taken no previous counsel together, yet, upon this point,
both were in perfect accord,--they would prefer to be left in their old
home.

"When father comes back again," said Eph-raim, "he must know where to
find us. But to you, Uncle Gabriel, he would never come."

The uncle then insisted that Viola at least should accompany him, for he
had daughters at home whom she could assist in their duties in the house
and on the farm. But the child clung to Ephraim, and with flaming eyes,
and in a voice of proud disdain, which filled the simple farmer with
something like terror, she cried:

"Uncle, you have enough to do to provide for your own daughters; don't
let _me_ be an additional burden upon you; besides, sooner would I
wander destitute through the world than be separated from my brother."

"And what do you propose to do then?" exclaimed the uncle, after he had
somewhat recovered from his astonishment at Viola's vehemence.

"You see, Uncle Gabriel," said Ephraim, a sudden flush overspreading his
grief-stricken features, "you see I have thought about it, and I have
come to the conclusion that this is the best plan. Viola shall keep
house, and I... I 'll start a business."

"_You_ start a business?" cried the uncle with a loud laugh. "Perhaps
you can tell me what price I 'll get for my oats next market day? A
business!... and _what_ business, my lad?"

"Uncle," said Ephraim, "if I dispose of all that is left us, I shall
have enough money to buy a small business. Others in our position have
done the same... and then..."

"Well, and then?" the uncle cried, eagerly anticipating his answer.

"Then the _Sechus_ of our mother will come to our aid," Ephraim said
softly.

The farmer's eyes grew dim with moisture; his sister had been very dear
to him.

"As I live!" he cried, brushing his hand across his eyes, "you are true
children of my sister Gudule. That's all _I_ can say."

Then, as though moved by a sudden impulse, he quickly produced, from
the depths of his overcoat, a heavy pocketbook. "There!"... he cried,
well-nigh out of breath, "there are a hundred