me from her an unexpected and vigorous opposition.

"No, Andrew," said she, with an emphasis unusual to her in
addressing her husband, "that must not be."

"I tell you it must be, Esther," quickly replied Mr. Howland.
"Nothing else will save the boy."

"It lacks only that to complete his ruin," said Mrs. Howland,
firmly. "Never, Andrew--never will he go on board of a vessel with
my consent."

And the mother burst into tears.

"I don't wish to have any contention about this matter, Esther,"
said Mr. Howland, gravely, as soon as his wife had grown calm, "and
I don't mean to have any. But I wish you to understand that I am in
earnest. Being fully satisfied that the last hope for Andrew is to
send him to sea, I have fully made up my mind to do it. I have
already spoken to the captain of a vessel trading to South America.
A few months on ship-board will tame him. He'll be glad enough to
behave himself when he gets home."

"I have no faith in this remedy," replied Mrs. Howland, somewhat to
the surprise of her husband, who expected to silence her, as usual,
with his broadly asserted ultimatum. "Severe remedies have been
tried long enough. In my view, a milder course pursued toward the
boy would effect more than any other treatment."

"Mildness! Haven't we tried that, over and over again? And hasn't it
only encouraged him to bolder acts of disobedience?"

Mrs. Howland sighed. Her mind went back to the past, but none of
these instances of mild treatment could she remember. The iron hand
had been on him from the beginning, crushing out the good, and
hardening the evil into endurance.

"Andrew," said she, after sitting for some time with her eyes upon
the floor, speaking in a very calm voice, "he is my son as well as
yours--and his welfare is as dear to me as it is to you. As his
mother, I am entitled to a voice in all that concerns him; and now,
in the sight of heaven, I give my voice distinctly against his being
sent to sea."

Mr. Howland seemed startled at this bold speaking in his wife,
which, to him, amounted to little less than rebellion against his
authority. As the head of the family, it was his prerogative to
rule; and he had ruled for years with almost undisputed sway. Not in
the least inclined did he feel to give up now, the power which he
believed, of right, belonged to him. A sharp retort trembled for a
moment on his lips; but he kept back its utterance. He did not,
however, waver a single line from his