ave to get the savings-bank to put a mortgage on the
place; but we had just enough to start the season with, and we thought
we would try to pull through. We had a splendid season, and made money,
and this year we're doin' so well that I ain't afraid for the future any
more, and I want to give Jeff a chance in the world. I want he should go
to college."

Westover felt all the boldness of the aspiration, but it was at least
not in the direction of art. "Wouldn't you rather miss him in the
management?"

"We should, some. But he would be here the best part of the summer, in
his vacations, and Jackson and I are full able to run the house without
him."

"Jackson seems very well," said Westover, evasively.

"He's better. He's only thirty-four years old. His father lived to be
sixty, and he had the same kind. Jeff tell you he had been at Lovewell
Academy?"

"Yes; he did."

"He done well there. All his teachers that he ever had," Mrs. Durgin
went on, with the mother-pride that soon makes itself tiresome to the
listener, "said Jeff done well at school when he had a mind to, and at
the Academy he studied real hard. I guess," said Mrs. Durgin, with her
chuckle, "that he thought that was goin' to be the end of it. One thing,
he had to keep up with Cynthy, and that put him on his pride. You seen
Cynthy yet?"

"No. Jeff told me she was in charge of the diningroom."

"I guess I'm in charge of the whole house," said Mrs. Durgin. "Cynthy's
the housekeeper, though. She's a fine girl, and a smart girl," said Mrs.
Durgin, with a visible relenting from some grudge, "and she'll do well
wherever you put her. She went to the Academy the first two winters Jeff
did. We've about scooped in the whole Whitwell family. Franky's here,
and his father's--well, his father's kind of philosopher to the lady
boarders." Mrs. Durgin laughed, and Westover laughed with her. "Yes, I
want Jeff should go to college, and I want he should be a lawyer."

Westover did not find that he had anything useful to say to this; so he
said: "I've no doubt it's better than being a painter."

"I'm not so sure; three hundred dollars for a little thing like that."
She indicated the photograph of his Lion's Head, and she was evidently
so proud of it that he reserved for the moment the truth as to the
price he had got for the painting. "I was surprised when you sent me a
photograph full as big. I don't let every one in here, but a good many
of the ladies are artists the