st as well as his wife did, what those brief answers
indicated; so, stealing away to the table where Guy's blurred copy-book
and Edwin's astonishing addition sums were greatly in need of Uncle
Phineas, I left the fire-side corner to those two. Soon John settled
himself in my easy chair, and then one saw how very weary he was--weary
in body and soul alike--weary as we seldom beheld him. It went to my
heart to watch the listless stretch of his large, strong frame--the
sharp lines about his mouth--lines which ought not to have come there
in his two-and-thirty years. And his eyes--they hardly looked like
John's eyes, as they gazed in a sort of dull quietude, too anxious to
be dreamy, into the red coals--and nowhere else.

At last he roused himself, and took up his wife's work.

"More little coats! Love, you are always sewing."

"Mothers must--you know. And I think never did boys outgrow their
things like our boys. It is pleasant, too. If only clothes did not
wear out so fast."

"Ah!" A sigh--from the very depths of the father's heart.

"Not a bit too fast for my clever fingers, though," said Ursula,
quickly. "Look, John, at this lovely braiding. But I'm not going to
do any more of it. I shall certainly have no time to waste over
fineries at Longfield."

Her husband took up the fanciful work, admired it, and laid it down
again. After a pause he said:

"Should you be very much disappointed if--if we do not go to Longfield
after all?"

"Not go to Longfield!" The involuntary exclamation showed how deep her
longing had been.

"Because I am afraid--it is hard, I know--but I am afraid we cannot
manage it. Are you very sorry?"

"Yes," she said frankly and truthfully. "Not so much for myself,
but--the children."

"Ay, the poor children."

Ursula stitched away rapidly for some moments, till the grieved look
faded out of her face; then she turned it, all cheerful once more, to
her husband. "Now, John, tell me. Never mind about the children. Tell
me."

He told her, as was his habit at all times, of some losses which had
to-day befallen him--bad debts in his business--which would make it, if
not impracticable, at least imprudent, to enter on any new expenses
that year. Nay, he must, if possible, retrench a little. Ursula
listened, without question, comment, or complaint.

"Is that all?" she said at last, very gently.

"All."

"Then never mind. I do not. We will find some other pleasures for the