ruggle it had been for some
time to keep matters going comfortably, they cast about to see what
retrenchment could be made. Even if they wanted to, this would be no
time to sell. The house seemed much too large for them, yet it was not
planned so that any could be rented out.

"If you're set upon that," said Aunt Priscilla, "I'll take the spare
rooms, whether I need them or not. And we will just go on together.
Strange though that Foster, who was so much needed, should be taken, and
I, without a chick or a child, and so much older, be left behind."

There was a new trustee to be looked up for Doris. A much younger man
was needed. If Cary were five or six years older! Foster Leverett's
death was a great shock to Winthrop Adams. Sometimes it seemed as if a
shadowy form hovered over his shoulder, warning him that middle life was
passing. He had a keen disappointment, too, in his son. He had hoped to
find in him an intellectual companion as the years went on, but he could
plainly see that his heart was not in his profession. The young fellow's
ardor had been aroused on other lines that brought him in direct
opposition to the elder's views. He had gone so far as to ask his
father's permission to enlist in the navy, which had been refused, not
only with prompt decision, but with a feeling of amazement that a son of
his should have proposed such a step.

Cary had the larger love of country and the enthusiasm of youth. His
father was deeply interested in the welfare and standing of the city,
and he desired it to keep at the head. He had hoped to see his son one
of the rising men of the coming generation. War horrified him: it called
forth the cruel and brutal side of most men, and was to be undertaken
only for extremely urgent reasons as the last hope and salvation of
one's country. We had gained a right to stand among the nations of the
world; it was time now that we should take upon ourselves something
higher--the cultivation of literature and the fine arts. To plunge the
country into war again would be setting it back decades.

He had taken a great deal of pleasure in the meetings, of the Anthology
Club and the effort they had made to keep afloat a _Magazine of Polite
Literature_. The little supper, which was very plain; the literary chat;
the discussions of English poets and essayists, several of which were
reprinted at this era; and the encouragement of native writers, of whom
there were but few except in the line of se