in the library, as we generally did
before going to rest. Ruth still looked pale, and complained of pains.
Evidently her fall had hurt her more than we had thought. My mother
sat near her, and lovingly held her hand, often saying soft loving
words, as though she wanted to be a mother to her. I was glad of this,
for I was sure that Ruth must often feel sad and lonely, and it must
comfort her to know that although she was an orphan she was still
beloved.

We all joined in conversation, with the exception of Wilfred. He sat
behind his mother, never speaking a word. I forget now what were the
subjects of discussion; it does not matter much. Still I cannot but
wish that some clever painter could have put the gathering on canvas,
for to me it looked beautiful. My father was so stately and grand,
while my mother was, I think, the handsomest woman I ever saw; and
behind her was the clear, Greek-like face of my brother. The three
girls, too, looked the picture of contentment. It was a home scene in
a quiet old house, and worthy of a painter's skill.

We had been sitting there some little time, when the vicar walked in.
He was always a welcome visitor and I regarded him as a sort of second
father. He joined in our conversation quite naturally, and we soon
became quite merry together.

Presently there was a lull in our talk, and then Wilfred, without any
warning, broke out excitedly, and in a loud voice,

"Father, I want to go to Oxford."

We all looked at him in astonishment. He had been so silent all the
evening that this made us think something was the matter.

My father eyed him keenly, and then replied quietly.

"I had arranged for you to go next year, Wilfred."

"Yes, but I want to go now," he said, excitedly. "I've been home here
long enough; I've wasted enough time."

"You've not wasted so much time, my boy," said my father, kindly. "Mr.
Polperrow has had you in hand, and has given you a good drilling;
besides, you are only just turned eighteen."

"I know," he said; "but I am the younger son, and so shall have no
fortune. Thus, I think, I should waste no time in getting an
education. Mr. Polperrow told me, not long since, that he could not do
much more for me, and as I am to be 'penniless Wilfred' I think I might
have a chance to earn my bread."

"You will not be penniless, Wilfred," said my father. "You will be as
well endowed as most young men, and I have my plans for the future."

"But I