aking, Mr. Maxwell, although he spoke rather as if he
was laughing at him, was yet glancing at him admiringly.

When Mr. Harry was silent, he exclaimed, "You are right, you are right,
Gray. With your smooth highways, and plenty of schools, and churches,
and libraries, and meetings for young people, you would make country
life a paradise, and I tell you what you would do, too; you would empty
the slums of the cities. It is the slowness and dullness of country
life, and not their poverty alone, that keep the poor in dirty lanes
and tenement houses. They want stir and amusement, too, poor souls, when
their day's work is over. I believe they would come to the country if it
were made more pleasant for them."

"That is another question," said Mr. Harry, "a burning question in my
mind the labor and capital one. When I was in New York, Maxwell, I was
in a hospital, and saw a number of men who had been day laborers. Some
of them were old and feeble, and others were young men, broken down in
the prime of life. Their limbs were shrunken and drawn. They had been
digging in the earth, and working on high buildings, and confined in
dingy basements, and had done all kinds of hard labor for other men.
They had given their lives and strength for others, and this was the end
of it to die poor and forsaken. I looked at them, and they reminded me
of the martyrs of old. Ground down, living from hand to mouth, separated
from their families in many cases they had had a bitter lot. They had
never had a chance to get away from their fate, and had to work till
they dropped. I tell you there is something wrong. We don't do enough
for the people that slave and toil for us. We should take better care
of them, we should not herd them together like cattle, and when we get
rich, we should carry them along with us, and give them a part of our
gains, for without them we would be as poor as they are."

"Good, Harry I'm with you there," said voice behind him, and looking
around, we saw Mr. Wood standing in the doorway, gazing down proudly at
his step-son.

Mr. Harry smiled, and getting up, said, "Won't you have my chair, sir?"

"No, thank you; your mother wishes us to come to tea. There are muffins,
and you know they won't improve with keeping."

They all went to the dining-room, and I followed them. On the way, Mr.
Wood said, "Right on top of that talk of yours, Harry, I've got to tell
you of another person who is going to Boston to live."

"Who i