's what I kept still for!" said the girl. "It's hard enough,
goodness knows--as it is! Its nothing wicked, or even risky, Mother
dear--and as far as I can see it is right!"

Her mother smiled through her tears. "If you say that, my dear child,
I know there's no stopping you. And I hate to argue with you--even for
your own sake, because it is so much to my advantage to have you here.
I--shall miss you--Diantha!"

"Don't, Mother!" sobbed the girl.

"Its natural for the young to go. We expect it--in time. But you are so
young yet--and--well, I had hoped the teaching would satisfy you till
Ross was ready."

Diantha sat up straight.

"Mother! can't you see Ross'll never be ready! Look at that family! And
the way they live! And those mortgages! I could wait and teach and save
a little even with Father always losing money; but I can't see Ross
wearing himself out for years and years--I just _can't_ bear it!"

Her mother stroked her fair hair softly, not surprised that her own plea
was so lost in thought of the brave young lover.

"And besides," the girl went on "If I waited--and saved--and married
Ross--what becomes of _you,_ I'd like to know? What I can't stand is to
have you grow older and sicker--and never have any good time in all your
life!"

Mrs. Bell smiled tenderly. "You dear child!" she said; as if an
affectionate five-year old had offered to get her a rainbow, "I know
you mean it all for the best. But, O my _dearest_! I'd rather have
you--here--at home with me---than any other 'good time' you can
imagine!"

She could not see the suffering in her daughter's face; but she felt
she had made an impression, and followed it up with heart-breaking
sincerity. She caught the girl to her breast and held her like a little
child. "O my baby! my baby! Don't leave your mother. I can't bear it!"

A familiar step outside, heavy, yet uncertain, and they both looked at
each other with frightened eyes.

They had forgotten the biscuit.

"Supper ready?" asked Mr. Bell, with grim humor.

"It will be in a moment, Father," cried Diantha springing to her feet.
"At least--in a few moments."

"Don't fret the child, Father," said Mrs. Henderson softly. "She's
feeling bad enough."

"Sh'd think she would," replied her husband. "Moreover--to my mind--she
ought to."

He got out the small damp local paper and his pipe, and composed himself
in obvious patience: yet somehow this patience seemed to fill the
kitchen, and to act l