st a ray of sunlight did not find its way sometime during the day. It
shone upon threadbare carpets and painted floors; upon sofas the
upholstering of which had an unmistakable air of having been experimented
with; and chairs which Mrs. Farrell had recaned, having learned the art
from a blind boy who lived opposite. Yet the sunlight revealed as well
an air of thrift and cheeriness; for the widow, despite her days of
discouragement, aimed to train her children to look upon the bright side
of life, and to trust in Providence.

"Bernard," said she one evening, "I have been thinking that if I could
hire a sewing-machine I might get piecework from the shops, and earn more
than by looking to chance patronage. I have a mind to inquire about one."

The boy was silent. She began to doubt if he had heard, and was about to
repeat the remark when he answered:

"No, mother, don't. There are too many women doing that kind of sewing
at starvation prices. But I'll tell you what would be a fine thing if
you really had the time for it, though I do not see how you could,--it
seems to me we keep you busy."

"What is your idea?" inquired Mrs. Farrell eagerly, paying no heed to the
latter part of his speech.

"Well, if we could manage to pay the rent of a type-writing machine, I
could probably get you copying from the firm as well as from some of the
other lawyers in the building. I was wondering the other day if I could
do anything at it myself, and thus pick up an additional dollar or two in
the week. Of course, you would accomplish more than I could, and it
would be a hundred times better than stitch! stitch! How I hate the whir
of the thing!" And Bernard, with his juggler gift of mimicry, proceeded
forthwith to turn himself into a sewing-machine, jerking his feet up and
down in imitation of the motion of the treadle, and making an odd noise
in his throat.

Mrs. Farrell laughed, as she replied: "I do not know that there is much
choice between this and the click of the type-writer. But, anyhow, your
plan, though it sounds plausible, would not do, because I should not be
able to work the type-writer."

"There would be no difficulty about that," argued Bernard. "You know how
to play the piano, and the fingering is very much easier. It will come
naturally."

His mother laughed again, yet she sighed as well. Her father had given
her a piano as a wedding present, but this had been the first article of
value to be dispense