n
after another, always drawing nearer home. The Latin races were to
suffice me. Then early France, especially in its relations with
England;--Normandy, Anjou. Then early England, especially in its
relations with France. The end will be a county, or a town--nay,
possibly a building. Why not devote one's self to the history of a
market-cross? It would be respectable, I tell you. Thoroughness is all.'

When they were alone in the library at night, Morton spoke of his
eldest boy, expressing some anxiety about him.

'The rascal will have to earn his living--and how? There's time, I
suppose, but it begins to fidget me. He won't handle corn--I'm clear as
to that. At his age, of course, all lads talk about voyages and so on,
but Harry seems cut out for a larger sphere than Greystone. I shan't
balk him. I'd rather he hadn't anything to do with fighting--still,
that's a weakness.'

'We think of sending Wager's lad into the navy,' said Rolfe, when he
had mused awhile. 'Of course, he'll have to make his own way.'

'Best thing you can do, no doubt. And what about his little sister?'

'That's more troublesome. It's awkward that she's a relative of Mrs
Abbott. Otherwise, I should have proposed to train her for a cook.'

'Do you mean it?'

'Why not? She isn't a girl of any promise. What better thing for her,
and for the community, than to make her a good cook? They're rare
enough, Heaven knows. What's the use of letting her grow up with ideas
of gentility, which in her case would mean nothing but uselessness? She
must support herself, sooner or later, and it won't be with her brains.
I've seriously thought of making that suggestion to Mrs. Abbott. Ten
years hence, a sensible woman cook will demand her own price, and be a
good deal more respected than a dressmaker or a she-clerk. The stomach
is very powerful in bringing people to common-sense. When all the
bricklayers' daughters are giving piano lessons, and it's next to
impossible to get any servant except a lady's-maid, we shall see women
of leisure develop a surprising interest in the boiling of potatoes.'

Morton admitted the force of these arguments.

'What would you wish your own boy to be?' he asked presently.

'Anything old-fashioned, unadventurous, happily obscure; a country
parson, perhaps, best of all.'

'I understand. I've had the same thoughts. But one Ii to get over that
kind of thing. It won't do to be afraid of life--nor of death either.'

'And there's the