panion's lips.

"Your Uncle Calvin has made his mark," he said.

"A black and blue one, I'll warrant," retorted Sylvia.

Jacob Johnson shook his head gravely. "He's made his mark, and your
Cousin Jacob is only a farmer."

Sylvia's lips had nearly formed the words, "I thought so." Her eyes
dropped involuntarily to the limp bag.

"I was wondering what you were intending to do here in Boston, little
girl?"

"I can't stay in Boston," she returned, and her lip quivered. "Just
think, Cousin Jacob, I'm spending Uncle Calvin's money when I hate him!
Isn't it awful?"

"It is," returned the other, with conviction. "Hating folks is the very
worst business anybody can invest in."

"I didn't mean that. Isn't it awful to be obliged to him? You don't
know. You don't understand."

"Yes, I do," the speaker nodded. "I know the whole thing from A to
izzard. Well, how do you expect to leave Boston, and what will you do?"

"Go on the stage."

"Oh, I guess not, little one. How old are you? You look fifteen, but
you're more. I remember when you were born, and how I envied Sam."

"I'm nineteen."

"If you were going on the stage, it would have been well to be thinking
of it even sooner. Have you had any experience?"

"No, except knowing an actor."

"And you're counting on his help?"

"Yes. I think I'd better marry him."

Jacob Johnson looked at her in silence. "You love him?" he asked at
last.

"A--pretty well."

Her companion shook his head, smilingly. "Is he famous?"

"No. He says his chance has never really come."

"Young?"

"Oh, no."

Cousin Jacob threw back his head. "What a way out of trouble: to many
an actor of that sort whom you love pretty well! You are very good to
look at, Sylvia, my child, and any chance you could get on the stage
would come from that. Bad business, hard business, dangerous business.
Anyway, you're not strong yet. I have a proposal to make you. Come up
with me to the farm for a while and drink milk."

"Why, Cousin Jacob!" Sylvia's cheeks had grown very white, and now a
little color stole back into them. "Oh, you're kind!"

"Well, then, if you think so, come!"

"When?" Sylvia already had a sick dread of the little room upstairs and
its thoughts.

"Now."

"To-day--to-night?" eagerly.

He nodded. "We may as well go to Portland to-night as to stay here.
Then we'll go to the farm to-morrow."

Sylvia took his hand in both hers and looked earnestly into his eyes.
"Forgive me," sh