, too. If father is away all summer it
will be useless ever to start it again. Thee'll see, mother, how it
will end if Walter Evesham has the custom and the water all summer. I
think it's miserable for a young man to be so keen about money."

"Dorothy, seems to me thee's hasty in thy judgments. I never heard that
said of Walter Evesham. His father left him with capital to improve his
mill. It does better work than ours; we can't complain of that. Thy
father was never one to study much after ways of making money. He felt
he had no right to more than an honest livelihood. I don't say that
Walter Evesham's in the wrong. We know that Joseph took advantage of
his opportunities, though I can't say that I ever felt much unity with
some of his transactions. What would thee have, my dear? Thee's
discouraged with thy father for choosing the thorny way, which we tread
with him; but thee seems no better satisfied with one who considers the
flesh and its wants!"

"I don't _know_, mother, _what_ I want for myself. It doesn't matter,
but for thee I would have rest from all these cruel worries thee has
borne so long."

She buried her face in her mother's lap and put her strong young arms
about the frail, toil-bent form.

"There, there, dear. Try to rule thy spirit, Dorothy. Thee's too much
worked up about this. They are not worries to me. I am thankful we have
nothing to decide, one way or the other--only to do our best with what
is given us. Thee's not thyself, dear. Go down-stairs and fetch in the
clothes, and don't hurry; stay out till thee gets more composed."

Dorothy did not succeed in bringing herself into unity with her
father's call, but she came to a fuller realization of his struggle.
When he bade them good-by, his face showed what it had cost him, but
Rachel was calm and cheerful. The pain of parting is keenest to those
who go, but it stays longer with those who are left behind.

"Dorothy, take good care of thy mother!" Friend Barton said, taking his
daughter's face between his hands and gravely kissing her brow between
the low-parted ripples of her hair.

"Yes, father," she said, looking into his eyes. "Thee knows I'm thy
eldest son."

They watched the old chaise swing round the corner of the lane, then
the pollard willows shut it from sight.

"Come, mother," said Dorothy, hurrying her in at the gate. "I'm going
to make a great pot of mush, and have it hot for supper, and fried for
breakfast, and warmed up with