essed, and irritable than ever. He could not
sleep, he ate scarcely any thing, he rarely spoke, and more than once
Mrs. Parker regretted that the proposal had been made. In vain Edith
brought him plants from the little greenhouse, fine camellias, pots of
snow-drops, and lovely anemones. They seemed rather to awaken painful
than pleasing remembrances and associations, and once even when he had
lain long looking at a white camellia he burst into tears. It is a great
trial of temper, a great test of the sincerity of our purpose, when the
means we use to please and gratify seem to have just the contrary
effect. In the sick room especially, where kind acts, and gentle words,
and patient forbearance are so constantly demanded, it is difficult to
refrain from expressions of disappointment when all our endeavours fail;
when those we wish to please and comfort, obstinately refuse to be
pleased and comforted. Often did Fred and Edith hold counsel as to what
would give Joe pleasure, but he was as reserved and gloomy as ever, and
his heart seemed inaccessible to kindness and affection. Besides, there
were continual subjects of annoyance which they could scarcely prevent,
with all the forethought and care in the world.

The boys were very thoughtful, for boys; Mrs. Parker had it is true
warned them not to talk of their out-of-door pleasures and amusements
to or before Joe, and they were generally careful; but sometimes they
would, in the gladness of their young hearts, break out into praises of
the fine walk they had just had on the cliff, or the glorious skating on
the pond, of the beauty of the pony, and of undiscovered walks and rides
in the neighbourhood. Once, in particular, Emilie, who was spending the
afternoon with the Parkers, was struck with the expression of agony that
arose to Joe's face from a very trifling circumstance. They were all
talking with some young companion of what they would be when they grew
up, and one of them appealing to Joe, he quickly said, "oh, a sailor--I
care for nobody at home and nobody cares for me, so I shall go to sea."

"To sea!" the boy repeated in wonder.

"And why not?" said Joe, petulantly, "where's the great wonder of that?"

There was a silence all through the little party; no one seemed willing
to remind the poor lad of that which he, for a moment, seemed to
forget--his helpless crippled state. It was only Emilie who noticed his
look of hopelessness; she sat near him and heard his sti