imself on one of the red-plush sofas Scheffer
had transferred to his private apartment. He was in one of those serious
moods that had become frequent since Cromwell went away; or, rather,
since he had come into this near relation with a working and prosperous
man.

'It's easy enough to be poor for one's self,' said the anxious
youngster; 'but whether one _ought_ to be poor, when money is to be
honestly made, and at only a trifling risk, though by desperate hard
work--that's the question.'

'H'm!' said Scheffer.

'Well,' said Paul, irritated by his seeming indifference, 'a fellow is
in a deuced bad plight, if he has to plead poverty, when he ought to be
able to help one or two beside himself! I envy you, Scheffer. I envy you
every time I come here. You can do so much! You could leap all the
college gates in no time, if you were fool enough to try.'

'I'm not,' said Scheffer. 'I know I can't work with many irons in the
fire--never could. And I've nothing to complain of. I'm prospering, as
you say. That's the chief thing, I suppose. Folks seem to think so. I'm
one of the million; I must do as the rest--build a house, and marry a
wife some day. But not till I can support her like a lady, I tell you,
Paul.'

There was the difference of many years between the man and the boy, but
to no other person was Scheffer in the habit of saying such things.

'I'd like to see Madam Scheffer,' said Paul, with a quiet laugh.
Scheffer was indulgent toward that mirth; he smiled as he said:

'Be patient, as I am, and you shall see her. There was a Mrs. Scheffer
once--my mother that was; if there's another like her--I believe there
is!'

'Can't you draw me her portrait?'

'Perhaps I could, if I cared.'

'But you don't care. Well, I can get it out of Josephine; she remembers
your mother.'

Paul looked so much like his sister when he named the name of Josephine
and of his mother in one breath, that Scheffer could not refuse him.

'Medium size,' he said, 'and built to last. Graceful, as any mother
would have been--if--as she was, in spite of hard work--it was her
nature, and her nature was a strong one. She has light hair, that curls
as if it liked to, and her eyes are blue. It is a fair face, Paul, and
she has a kind smile.'

'But tell me her name; for you need not say it's a fancy sketch.'

'May be not; but that, you see, is my secret.'

There was no such thing, in reality, as intruding further on this
ground. Still, half em