ave hopes. By the way, have you ever
succeeded in persuading his mother to send Leonard to school? He
may run the same risk from isolation as Dick: not be able to choose
his companions wisely when he grows up, but be too much overcome
by the excitement of society to be very discreet as to who are his
associates. Have you spoken to her about my plan?"

"Yes! but to no purpose. I cannot say that she would even admit an
argument on the subject. She seemed to have an invincible repugnance
to the idea of exposing him to the remarks of other boys on his
peculiar position."

"They need never know of it. Besides, sooner or later, he must step
out of his narrow circle, and encounter remark and scorn."

"True," said Mr Benson, mournfully. "And you may depend upon it,
if it really is the best for Leonard, she will come round to it
by-and-by. It is almost extraordinary to see the way in which her
earnest and most unselfish devotion to this boy's real welfare leads
her to right and wise conclusions."

"I wish I could tame her so as to let me meet her as a friend. Since
the baby was born, she comes to see Jemima. My wife tells me, that
she sits and holds it soft in her arms, and talks to it as if her
whole soul went out to the little infant. But if she hears a strange
footstep on the stair, what Jemima calls the 'wild-animal look'
comes back into her eyes, and she steals away like some frightened
creature. With all that she has done to redeem her character, she
should not be so timid of observation."

"You may well say 'with all that she has done!' We of her own
household hear little or nothing of what she does. If she wants help,
she simply tells us how and why; but if not--perhaps because it is
some relief to her to forget for a time the scenes of suffering in
which she has been acting the part of comforter, and perhaps because
there always was a shy, sweet reticence about her--we never should
know what she is and what she does, except from the poor people
themselves, who would bless her in words if the very thought of her
did not choke them with tears. Yet, I do assure you, she passes out
of all this gloom, and makes sunlight in our house. We are never so
cheerful as when she is at home. She always had the art of diffusing
peace, but now it is positive cheerfulness. And about Leonard; I
doubt if the wisest and most thoughtful schoolmaster could teach half
as much directly, as his mother does unconsciously and indirectly
eve