as the career he might have had by choosing the thing he did not
choose.' Ceasing to speak aloud and to Paul, Josephine added, in a voice
no one could hear: 'I was in the midst of that struggle; I understand
him as no one else does. And--he knows it.'

'Tell me about it,' said Paul. 'You don't know how much I admire
Scheffer.'

'Well you may,' she answered; 'but there is nothing to tell. He had the
opportunity to keep at school, or to go into his uncle's shop--and he
chose the shop on his mother's account.'

'And I chose a profession on _my_ mother's account,' said Paul bitterly.

Josephine laid her hand on his; it was a gentle touch, but it recalled
him.

'The best choice in both cases,' said she. 'Any one can see you are not
expert enough to make a successful trader. Ask August if a man must not
have a talent for trade, just as an artist must have a genius for
painting.'

'Then you think August a born trader?'

'I know he can do more than one thing well,' she answered.

'If you think so well of August,' said he, 'I don't see how you _can_
think better of another fellow. The town couldn't contain him if he
heard what you said just now.'

Josephine turned a page of her book.

'He knows perfectly well what I think of him, Paul.'

The very frankness of her words and manner misled the boy. The curious
suspicion that for a moment had beset him fled fast before his laughter.

She went on reading--seemed to do so. But an image for which the writer
of that book was not responsible stood, all the while, clear and
immovable in her memory. Before her, in a rude shed, were a boy and a
girl. The girl had a basket in her hand, filled with chips, which she
had raked from the sawdust; the boy was offering her assistance; but he
knew well enough there was no wood to be sawn or split. It was growing
dark and cold within the house, and still more dismal without it. The
hearts of these two are warmer than their hands.

'I've done it,' said the boy. 'I brought my books home last night,
Josey, and I'm going to my uncle in the morning.'

'What did he say?'

'He wouldn't say a word. It was my choice, and I must stand by it,' he
answered. 'It's for my mother! If I had only you, and was working for
you, I would take the other track. But, you see, it is for her; and I'm
her only son.'

'You will be August Scheffer, whatever you may do,' she said, in a soft,
sweet voice.

--And did August Scheffer ever stand for less among