sible bond; and, as he walked back up the village and
passed the churchyard, where the children were playing about on
the graves, stopping every now and then to watch the sexton as he
stamped down and filled in the mould on the last made one beside
which he himself stood as a mourner--and heard the bells
beginning to chime for the afternoon service, he resolved within
himself that he would be a true and helpful friend to the widow's
son. On this subject he could talk freely to Katie; and he did so
that evening, expounding how much one in his position could do
for a young laboring man if he was really bent on it, and
building up grand castles for Harry, the foundations of which
rested on his own determination to benefit and patronize him.
Katie listened half doubtingly at first, but was soon led away by
his confidence, and poured out the tea in the full belief that
with Tom's powerful aid all would go well. After which they took
to reading the "Christian Year" together, and branched into
discussions on profane poetry, which Katie considered scarcely
proper for the evening, but which, nevertheless, being of such
rare occurrence with her, she had not the heart to stop.

The next morning Tom was to return home. After breakfast he began
the subject of his future plans for Harry again, when Katie
produced a small paper packet which she handed to him, saying--

"Here is your money again."

"What money?"

"The money you left with me for Harry Winburn. I thought at the
time that most probably he would not take it."

"But are you sure he doesn't want it? Did you try hard to get him
to take it?" said Tom, holding out his hand reluctantly for the
money.

"Not myself. I couldn't offer him money myself, of course; but I
sent it by David, and begged him to do all he could to persuade
him to take it."

"Well, and why wouldn't he?"

"Oh, he said the club-money which was coming in was more than
enough to pay for the funeral and for himself he didn't want it."

"How provoking! I wonder if old David really did his best to get
him to take it."

"Yes, I am sure he did. But you ought to be very glad to find
some independence in a poor man."

"Bother his independence! I don't like to feel that it costs me
nothing but talk--I want to pay."

"Ah, Tom, if you knew the poor as well as I do, you wouldn't say
so. I am afraid there are not two other men in the parish who
would have refused your money. The fear of undermining their