hadow came over the mother's face. It was like taking from her her
last hope.

"I was afraid you would not be repaid for going up to the city," she
said.

"I made a pretty good day's work of it, nevertheless, mother. What do
you say to this?" and he opened his wallet and showed her a roll of
bills.

"Is that Mr. Crawford's money?" she asked.

"No, mother, it is mine, or rather it is yours, for I give it to you."

"Did you find a pocketbook, Ben? If so, the owner may turn up."

"Mother, the money is mine, fairly mine, for it was given me in return
for a service I rendered a lady in New York."

"What service could you have possibly rendered, Ben, that merited such
liberal payment?" asked his mother in surprise.

Upon this Ben explained, and Mrs. Barclay listened to his story with
wonder.

"So you see, mother, I did well to go to the city," said Ben, in
conclusion.

"It has turned out so, and I am thankful for your good fortune. But I
should have been better pleased if you had seen Mr. Peters and found
him willing to help us about the mortgage."

"So would I, mother, but this money is worth having. When supper is
over I will go to the store to help out Mr. Crawford and report my
purchase of goods. You know the most of our trade is in the evening."

After Ben had gone Mrs. Barclay felt her spirits return as she thought
of the large addition to their little stock of money.

"One piece of good fortune may be followed by another," she thought.
"Mr. Peters may return from Europe in time to help us. At any rate,
we have nearly three months to look about us, and God may send us
help."

When the tea dishes were washed and put away Mrs. Barclay sat down to
mend a pair of Ben's socks, for in that household it was necessary to
make clothing last as long as possible, when she was aroused from her
work by a ringing at the bell.

She opened the door to admit Squire Davenport.

"Good-evening," she said rather coldly, for she could not feel
friendly to a man who was conspiring to deprive her of her modest home
and turn her out upon the sidewalk.

"Good-evening, widow," said the squire.

"Will you walk in?" asked Mrs. Barclay, not over cordially.

"Thank you, I will step in for five minutes. I called to see if you
had thought better of my proposal the other evening."

"Your proposal was to take my house from me," said Mrs. Barclay. "How
can you suppose I would think better of that?"

"You forget that th