ry hour that he is with her. Her noble, humble, pious endurance of
the consequences of what was wrong in her early life, seems expressly
fitted to act upon him, whose position is (unjustly, for he has done
no harm) so similar to hers."

"Well! I suppose we must leave it alone for the present. You will
think me a hard practical man when I own to you, that all I expect
from Leonard's remaining a home-bird is that, with such a mother, it
will do him no harm. At any rate, remember my offer is the same for a
year--two years hence, as now. What does she look forward to making
him into, finally?"

"I don't know. The wonder comes into my mind sometimes; but never
into hers, I think. It is part of her character--part perhaps of that
which made her what she was--that she never looks forward, and seldom
back. The present is enough for her."

And so the conversation ended. When Mr Benson repeated the substance
of it to his sister, she mused awhile, breaking out into an
occasional whistle (although she had cured herself of this habit in a
great measure), and at last she said:

"Now, do you know, I never liked poor Dick; and yet I'm angry with
Mr Farquhar for getting him out of the partnership in such a summary
way. I can't get over it, even though he has offered to send Leonard
to school. And here he's reigning lord-paramount at the office! As if
you, Thurstan, weren't as well able to teach him as any schoolmaster
in England! But I should not mind that affront, if I were not sorry
to think of Dick (though I never could abide him) labouring away
in Glasgow for a petty salary of nobody knows how little, while Mr
Farquhar is taking halves, instead of thirds, of the profits here!"

But her brother could not tell her--and even Jemima did not know,
till long afterwards--that the portion of income which would have
been Dick's as a junior partner, if he had remained in the business,
was carefully laid aside for him by Mr Farquhar; to be delivered up,
with all its accumulated interest, when the prodigal should have
proved his penitence by his conduct.

When Ruth had no call upon her time, it was indeed a holiday at
Chapel-house. She threw off as much as she could of the care and
the sadness in which she had been sharing; and returned fresh and
helpful, ready to go about in her soft, quiet way, and fill up every
measure of service, and heap it with the fragrance of her own sweet
nature. The delicate mending, that the elder women could