ssion, for he knew

Love that is true must hush itself,
Nor pain by its useless cry;
For the young don't care, and the old must bear,
And Time goes by--goes by.

One morning John said to his mother, "Today Martha is queen of the May.
Tomorrow they will pack, and do their last shopping and on Friday
afternoon they promise to be home. The maids and men will be all in
their places by tonight, and I think Jane will be pleased with the
changes I have made."

"She ought to be, but ought often stands for nothing. It cost thee a
goodish bit when thou hedn't much to count on."

"Not so much, mother--some paint and paper and yards of creton."

"And new white curtains 'upstairs and downstairs and in my lady's
chamber.' Add to that men's and women's wage; and add to that, the love
that could neither be bought nor sold."

"She is worth it all many times over."

"Happen she may be. Her aunt has had a heartbreaking lesson. She may say
a few words to unsay words that she never should have spoken."

"I shall be thinking of Martha all day. I hope she will keep her
confidence."

"What art thou talking about? Martha will do herself no injustice. It
isn't likely. What is the matter with thee, John? Thou art as
down-hearted as if all had gone wrong instead of right. O thou of little
faith!"

"I know and I am sorry and ashamed, mother."

The next morning John had a charming letter from Jane. Martha had done
wonderfully. She had played her part to perfection and there were only
exclamations of delight at the airy, fairy cleverness of her conceptions
of mimic royalty. Jane said the illustrated papers had all taken
Martha's picture, and in fact the May Day Dream had been an
unqualified, delightful success. "And the praise is all given to Martha,
John. I shall have her likeness taken today as she appeared surrounded
by her ladies. We shall surely see you at home on Friday."

John was so immensely proud of this news, that he went up the hill
earlier than usual in order to give it to his mother. And her attitude
disappointed him. She was singularly indifferent, he thought, and
answered his excited narrative by a fervent wish that they "were safely
back at Hatton." He wondered a little but let the circumstance pass.
"She has been worried about some household misdoing," he thought, and he
tried during their dinner together to lead her back to her usual homely,
frank cheerfulness. He only very partially succeeded, s