lad in a home-spun suit, whose
coarse material and clumsy make could not disguise his noble form or
graceful air.

He was like his mother, with the same oval face, regular features and
pale olive complexion, with the same full, serious lips, the same dark,
tender brown eyes, shaded by long, black lashes, and the same wavy,
jet-black hair--but there was a difference in the character of their
faces; where hers showed refinement and melancholy, his exhibited
strength and cheerfulness--his loving brown eyes, instead of drooping
sadly under the shadow of their lashes, looked you brightly and
confidently full in the face; and, lastly, his black hair curled crisply
around a broad, high forehead, royal with intellect. Such was the boy
that entered the room and came joyously forward to his mother, clasping
his arm around her neck, saluting her on both cheeks, and then
laughingly claiming his childish privilege of kissing "the pretty little
black mole on her throat."

"Will you never have outgrown your babyhood, Traverse?" asked his
mother, smiling at his affectionate ardor.

"Yes, dear little mother; in everything but the privilege of fondling
you; that feature of babyhood I never shall outgrow," exclaimed the
youth, kissing her again with all the ardor of his true and affectionate
heart, and starting up to help her set the table.

He dragged the table out from under the window, spread the cloth and
placed the cups and saucers upon it, while his mother took the biscuits
from the oven and made the tea; so that in ten minutes from the moment
in which he entered the room, mother and son were seated at their frugal
supper.

"I suppose, to-morrow being Saturday, you will have to get up earlier
than usual to go to the store?" said his mother.

"No, ma'am," replied the boy, looking up brightly, as if he were telling
a piece of good news; "I am not wanted any longer. Mr. Spicer's own man
has got well again and returned to work."

"So you are discharged?" said Mrs. Rocke, sadly.

"Yes, ma'am; but just think how fortunate that is, for I shall have a
chance to-morrow of mending the fence and nailing up the gate and sawing
wood enough to last you a week, besides doing all the other little odd
jobs that have been waiting for me so long; and then on Monday I shall
get more work."

"I wish I were sure of it," said the widow, whose hopes had long since
been too deeply crushed to permit her ever to be sanguine.

When their supper wa