d even cheerfully, the sacrifices which, as the wife
of a farmer in poor circumstances, she was compelled to make.

"You are right, Sarah," said Mark Nelson. "Your mother never seems to
think of herself. She might have been much better off if she had not
married me."

The children did not understand this allusion. They had never been told
that their mother had received an offer from Squire Hudson, the
wealthiest man in the village, but had chosen instead to marry Mark
Nelson, whose only property was a small farm, mortgaged for half its
value. Her rejected admirer took the refusal hard, for, as much as it
was possible for him, he loved the prettiest girl in the village, as
Mary Dale was generally regarded. But Mary knew him to be cold and
selfish, and could not make up her mind to marry him. If she had done
so, she would now be living in the finest house in the village, with
the chance of spending the winter in New York or Boston, instead of
drudging in an humble home, where there was indeed enough to eat, but
little money for even necessary purposes. She had never regretted her
decision. Her husband, though poor, was generally respected and liked,
while the squire, though his money procured him a certain degree of
consideration, had no near or attached friends.

To Squire Hudson many in the village paid tribute; for he held mortgages
on twenty farms and buildings, and was strict in exacting prompt payment
of the interest semi-annually. It was he to whom Mark Nelson's farm was
mortgaged for two thousand dollars. The mortgage had originally been for
fifteen hundred dollars, but five years before it had been increased to
two thousand, which represented more than half the sum which it would
have fetched, if put up for sale. The interest on this sum amounted to a
hundred and twenty dollars a year, which Mark Nelson always found it
hard to raise. Could he have retained it in his hands, and devoted it to
the use of his family, it would have helped them wonderfully, with Mrs.
Nelson's good management.

Tom, the oldest boy, now approaching his sixteenth birthday, looked up
from a book he was reading. He was a bright-looking boy, with brown
hair, a ruddy complexion, and dark-blue eyes, who looked, and was, frank
and manly.

"What is the amount of your interest?" he asked.

"Sixty dollars every half-year, Tom. That is what I paid to Squire
Hudson this afternoon. It would have made us very comfortable, if I only
could have k