grateful if you
will suggest anything."

"No doubt he can get a chance to work on a farm."

"I know of no farmer who needs his services, and even if there were one
he would not get money for his services, and that is what we want."

"Of course farming isn't the only thing," said the squire vaguely. "If
he looks round sharp he will come across something----"

Mrs. Barton shook her head.

"You know how little business there is in Lakeville," she answered.
"Isn't there some other department in the factory in which you can
employ him?"

Squire Marlowe shook his head.

"He is too young for any other work," he said.

"Then what are we to do?"

"Oh, you'll think of something," said the squire indefinitely. "He is to
be in the shop the rest of the week, and that will give you time to
think the matter over."

"Then you can't hold out any hope!" said Mrs. Barton mournfully.

"No, but you mustn't be despondent. Something will turn up."

Mrs. Barton was silent, and her sad face made the squire vaguely
uncomfortable. He wished she would go.

"Mrs. Marlowe is not feeling well this evening," he said awkwardly, "or
I would invite you to meet her. Some other evening----"

"I am not in the mood to meet any one to-night, Albert," she said. "I
will be going," and she rose from her chair and moved toward the door.

"Good-evening, then. I am glad to have seen you."

Mrs. Barton did not reply to the compliment. Her heart was too full of
sorrow to respond to what she knew to be insincere and unmeaning. She
understood very well that Albert Marlowe was glad to be rid of her.

"How unreasonable women are!" muttered Squire Marlowe, impatiently, as
he closed the door upon his unwelcome guest. "Mary Barton would have had
me postpone all improvements in my shop for the sake of keeping that boy
of hers in his place. Business considerations are as nothing to women.
They are so unpractical."

Mrs. Barton walked homeward slowly, musing bitterly on her cousin's want
of feeling.

"How cold-hearted he is!" she murmured. "He evidently cares nothing for
our needs, or the prospect of our hardships. He lives in a fine house,
and rears his family in luxury, while Bert and I are likely to want even
the necessaries of life."

Perhaps Mrs. Barton was a little too despondent. Perhaps she ought to
have had more trust in Providence; but there had been sorrows in her
life which had robbed her of her natural hopefulness, and she was no
longer