g his
prosperity.

"Your room is next--there," nodding his head to the open doorway, and
glancing up in his sister's immovable face. "I hope I made my divisions
rightly: I thought you would like to be near mother."

"It is all as well as it can be, I suppose," she answered with weary
indifference.

There came to Fred Lawrence just then a painful sense of want and loss,
a far-reaching sympathy in something that had never been, and now, when
the outside glitter was torn away, left life cold and barren. Was human
love so much?

His mother went on in her weak, inconsequent way, yet her foolish praise
was very sweet to him. He had been living such a lonely life for months,
that even he was grateful for something that looked like home, for a
woman's figure flitting about, and some voice beside his own.

The dinner-bell rang presently.

"I ordered yours brought up here," said Fred; "and I will have a little
with you, then I must go back to the office."

"It is terrible, Fred! That you should have to"--

"Dignify labor," and he laughed. "Mother dear, I was so thankful to get
something to do! And I am proud of making a home for you. Am I not your
only son?"

"But a clerk!" Some of the old Hope disdain spoke out there. "I cannot
bear to think of it--with all your education and talents and genius. I
wish you had found some business. There is the five thousand dollars of
the life-insurance, you know; and you could take it, though Agatha made
me promise that I would not have it fooled away in any thing. But I
should be glad to have you use it."

Fred stooped suddenly, and kissed her on the forehead. There _was_
something in mother-love, after all.

Just then Martha West came in with the tray. Fred drew out the folding
breakfast-table that his mother had so often used, while he was
introducing Martha to his mother and sister. She courtesied, and
proceeded to lay the cloth and the dishes, and disappeared for the
viands themselves.

"Is one woman expected to do all the work?" asked Irene at length.

"She thinks she can--with so small a family. Of course I"--

Irene raised her hand deprecatingly. "Spare me details," she said. "It
is very bitter to eat the bread of dependence: I have learned that
already."

He made no answer. Mrs. Lawrence looked from one to the other in
helpless bewilderment, but Martha entered again, and changed the
troubled current.

It was quite a picnic dinner. Irene unbent a little at the sigh