night that all
the melons in the world were n't worth a night's sleep. They 'll have to
go, and next year I 'll know more than to plant any."

"You go and help Amy pick currants, and let me talk to the boy a
little," said Mrs. Steele, coming up and taking Arthur off for a
promenade up the broad path.

"How pretty Amy has grown," said he, glancing with a pleased smile at
the girl as she looked up at her father. "I suppose the young men are
making sheep's eyes at her already."

"It does n't do them any good if they are," said Mrs. Steele,
decisively. "She's only sixteen and a little girl yet, and has sense
enough to know it." "What had she been crying for when I arrived? I saw
her eyes were as red as the currants."

"Oh, dear!" replied Mrs. Steele, with a sigh of vexation, "it was her
troubles at the Seminary. You know we let her go as a day scholar this
sum-mer. Some of the girls slight and snub her, and she is very unhappy
about it."

"Why, what on earth can anybody have against Amy?" demanded Arthur, in
indignant surprise.

"I suppose it's because some of the little hussies from the city have
taken the notion that they won't associate with a mechanic's daughter,
although Amy is very careful not to say it in so many words, for fear of
hurting my feelings. But I suspect that's about where the shoe pinches."

Arthur muttered something between an oath and a grunt, expressing the
emphasis of the one and the disgust of the other.

"I tell Amy it is foolish to mind their airs, but I 'm really afraid it
spoils the poor girl's happiness."

"Why don't you send her away to boarding-school, if it is so serious a
matter as that?"

"We can't afford it," said his mother, whereto Arthur promptly replied:
--

"I 'll pay her expenses. I 'm making a good deal more money than I
know what to do with, and I 'd really like the chance of doing a little
good."

His mother glanced at him with affectionate pride.

"You 're always wanting to pay somebody's expenses, or make somebody a
present. It's really unsafe, when you 're around, to indicate that one
is n't perfectly contented. But you caught me up too quickly. I was
going to say that we could n't spare her from home, anyhow. She's the
light of the house. Besides that, if it comes to objections, I 've my
notions about boarding-schools, and I 'd trust no girl of mine at one
that wasn't within sight of her home. No, she'll have to keep on here
and bear it as she can, though i