a hearty, friendly way.

"There's mother making signs that breakfast's ready, my boy. Come along
in."

We went in and took our places at the table so quietly that my mother's
hands began to tremble so much that she could hardly pour out the tea.

"What have you been doing, Harry, to make father so cross?" she said at
last.

"Nay, nay, mother, nothing at all," said my father quickly. "It's all
right. Harry and I have been coming to a bit of an understanding--
that's all. We haven't been quarrelling a bit."

"Are you sure, dear?" said my mother dubiously.

"Sure? ay!" cried my father. "Why, Harry and I were never better
friends."

"Indeed, no," I cried excitedly.

"You are both keeping something back from me," she cried, with her hands
trembling and the tears coming into her eyes.

"Oh, no, we won't keep anything back from you, mother," said my father
kindly. "Harry and I have been talking about his plans."

"Not for going away?" said my mother; "don't say that."

"But I must say it," said my father. "Harry is quite right. I didn't
like it at first; but, as he says, there are too many of us here, and he
is going to seek his fortune in a foreign land."

"Oh, my boy, my boy!" she cried.

"Same as your brother Reuben did," said my father. "Come, come, old
lady, courage! We must look this sort of thing in the face."

"And I'll go out there, mother and see if Uncle Reuben will help me. If
he can't, I'll try for myself, for I will get on; and some day, if I
don't come back a rich man, I'll come back with a sufficiency to make
the old age of both you and my father comfortable. Trust me, I will."

For some few minutes there was very little breakfast eaten; but at last
my father roused us up, talking quite cheerfully, and evidently trying
to reconcile my mother to my going, and then we went on with the meal.

"So Tom wants to go with you, does he?" said my father. "Well, he's a
good, hard-headed sort of fellow, and likes you, Harry. He'd better
go."

"But isn't he likely to lead poor Harry into mischief?" said my mother.

"No; he's more likely to act as ballast and keep him from capsizing if
he carries too much sail. Tom's all right."

My mother accepted the inevitable in a very short time, and soon began
to talk as mothers do--that is to say, homely mothers--for almost as
soon as she had wiped her eyes she exclaimed--

"Why, Harry, my dear, you must have at least six new shirts."

"Must I,