excuse for not helpin' Reuben more, that you had your daughter to provide for. Well, your daughter has got married; she married a rich man,—you looked out for that,—and she's provided for, fur as property can provide for any one. Now, without a child in the world to feel anxious about, you keep layin' up and layin' up, and 'll continner to lay up, I s'pose, till ye die, and leave a great fortin' to your daughter, that already has enough, and jest a pittance to Reuben and Thaddeus."

"No, no, Miss Beswick! you're wrong, you're wrong, Miss Beswick! I mean to do the handsome thing by both on 'em."

"Mean to! ye mean to! That's the way ye flatter yer conscience, and cheat yer own soul. Why don't ye do what ye mean to do to once, and make sure on 't? That's the way to git the good of your property. I tell ye, the time's comin' when the recollection of havin' done a good action will be a greater comfort to ye than all the property in the world. Then you'll look back, and say, 'Why didn't I do this and do that with my money, when 't was in my power, 'stead of hoardin' up and hoardin' up for others to spend after me?' Now, as I was goin' to say, ye didn't discourage Reuben's enlistin', and ye didn't incourage him the way ye might. You ought to 've said to him, 'Go, Reuben, if ye see it to be yer duty; and, as fur as money goes, ye sha'n't suffer for 't. I've got enough for all on us; and I'll pay yer debts, if need be, and see 't yer fam'ly 's kep' comf'table while ye're away.' But that's jest what ye didn't say, and it's jest what ye didn't do. All the time Reuben's been sarvin' his country, he's had his debts and his family expenses to worry him; and you know it's been all Sophrony could do, by puttin' forth all her energies, and strainin' every narve, to keep herself and children from goin' hungry and ragged. You've helped 'em a little, now and then, in driblets, it's true; but, dear me!" exclaimed Miss Beswick; and she smote her hands, palms downwards, upon her lap, with a look and gesture which signified that words utterly failed to express her feelings on the subject.

Mrs. Ducklow, who, since her annihilation, had scarcely ventured to look up, sat biting her lips, drawing breaths of suppressed anger and impatience, and sewing the patch to the trousers and to her own apron under them. There was an awful silence, broken only by the clock ticking, and Mr. Ducklow lifting his knife and fork, and letting them fall again. At last he forced himself to speak.

"Wal, you've read us a pretty smart lectur', Miss Beswick, I must say! I can't consaive what should make ye take such an interest in our affairs; but it's very kind in ye,—very kind, to be sure!"

"Take an interest! Haven't I seen Sophrony's struggles with them children? And haven't I seen Reuben come home this very night, a sick man, with a broken constitution, and no prospect before him but to give up his farm, lose all he has paid, and be thrown upon the charities of the world with his wife and children? And if the charities of friends are so cold, what can he expect of the charities of the world? Take an interest! I wish you took half as much! Here I've sot half an hour, and you haven't thought to ask how Reuben appeared, or anything about him!"

"May-be there's a good reason for that, Miss Beswick. 'Twas on my lips to ask half a dozen times; but you talked so fast, you wouldn't give me a chance."

"Well, I'm glad you've got some excuse, though a poor one!" said Miss Beswick.

"How is Reuben?" Mrs. Ducklow meekly inquired.

"All broken to pieces,—a mere shadder of what he was. He's had his old wound troublin' him agin; then he's had the fever, that came within one of takin' him out o' the world. He was in the hospitals, ye know, for two months or more; but finally the doctors see 't his only chance was to be sent home, weak as he was. A sergeant that was comin' on brought him all the way, and took him straight home; and that's the reason he got along so sudden and unexpected, even to Sophrony. Oh, if you could seen their meetin', as I did! then you wouldn't sneer at my takin' an interest!" And Miss Beswick, strong-minded as she was, found it necessary to make use of her handkerchief. "I didn't stop only to help put him to bed, and fix things a little; then I left 'em alone, and run over to tell ye. It's a pity you didn't know he was in town when you was there to-day, so as to bring him home with ye. But I s'pose you had your investments to look after. Come, now, Mr. Ducklow, how many thousan' dollars have you invested, since Reuben's been off to the war, and his folks have been sufferin' to home? You may have been layin' up hundreds, or even thousands, that way, this very day, for aught I know. But let me tell ye, you won't git no good of such property,—it'll only be a cuss to ye,—till you do the right thing by Reuben. Mark my word!"

There was another long silence.

"You a'n't going, be ye Miss Beswick?" said Mrs. Ducklow,—for the visitor had arisen. "What's yer hurry?"

"No hurry at all; but I've done my arrant and said my say, and may as well be goin'. Good night. Good night, Mr. Ducklow."

And Miss Beswick, pulling her shawl over her head, stalked out of the house like some tall, gaunt spectre, leaving the Ducklows to recover as best they could from the consternation into which they had been thrown by her coming.

"Did you ever?" said Mrs. Ducklow, gaining courage to speak after the visitor was out of hearing.

"She's got a tongue!" said Mr. Ducklow.

"Strange she should speak of your investing money to-day! D' ye s'pose she knows?"

"I don't see how she can know." And Mr. Ducklow paced the room in deep trouble. "I've been careful not to give a hint on 't to anybody, for I knew jest what folks would say: 'If Ducklow has got so much money to dispose of, he'd better give Reuben a lift.' I know how folks talk."

"Coming here to browbeat us!" exclaimed Mrs. Ducklow. "I wonder ye didn't be a little more plain with her, father! I wouldn't have sot and been dictated to as tamely as you did!"

"You wouldn't? Then why did ye? She dictated to you as much as she did to me; and you scurce opened your head; you didn't dars' to say yer soul was your own!"

"Yes, I did, I"——.

"You ventur'd to speak once, and she shet ye up quicker 'n lightnin'! Now tell about you wouldn't have sot and been dictated to like a tame noodle, as I did!"

"I didn't say a tame noodle."

"Yes, ye did. I might have answered back sharp enough, but I was expectin' you to speak. Men don't like to dispute with women."

"That's your git-off," said Mrs. Ducklow, trembling with vexation. "You was jest as much afraid of her as I was. I never see ye so cowed in all my life."

"Cowed! I wasn't cowed, neither. How unreasonable, now, for you to cast all the blame on to me!"

And Mr. Ducklow, his features contracted into a black scowl, took his boots from the corner.

"Ye ha'n't got to go out, have ye?" said Mrs. Ducklow. "I shouldn't think you'd put on yer boots jest to step to the barn and see to the hoss."

"I'm goin' over to Reuben's."

"To Reuben's! Not to-night, father!"

"Yes, I think I better. He and Sophrony'll know we heard of his gittin' home, and they're enough inclined a'ready to feel we neglect 'em. Haven't ye got somethin' ye can send?"

"I don't know,"—curtly. "I've scurce ever been over to Sophrony's, but I've carried her a pie or cake or something; and mighty little thanks I got for it, as it turns out!"

"Why didn't ye say that to Miss Beswick, when she was runnin' us so hard about our never doin' anything for 'em?"

"'T wouldn't have done no good; I knew jest what she'd say. 'What's a pie or a cake now and then?'—that's jest the reply she'd have made.—Dear me! what have I been doing?"

Mrs.