My mother was not

spoke of him before her.

present.

We never My brother laughed,

and replied, "I cannot say that I perceive any great resemblance."

"Not in appearance, of course. I did not mean that. But in my love of money."

66

'Yes, I love it too-but only for the good it does, and because it is so pleasant to earn it for ourselves. I think there never were such bright shillings and sixpences as those Mr. Martin takes out of that coarse canvass bag of his. But I should not care to hoard I like giving them to my dear

them up. mother."

"So do I. But I wish it was more." "We shall earn more as we grow older and stronger."

"Then you intend to take Mr. Martin's advice, and be a gardener all your life?"

"I do not know," said William, with a sigh. "After all," continued I, "it is very well, and very pleasant to be able to earn a little money, and help our dear mother, and I am thankful that we can do it. But to have a great deal of money without being obliged to work for it, would be better still."

"I do not know," said William again; "perhaps not."

“Oh, William, should you not like to be very rich? "

"Yes, I should like it if-if it was God's will; otherwise, I would rather not think about it. Such golden dreams only serve to make us discontented with every-day life."

Perhaps they do. I had forgotten my good resolutions. But whenever I am not hard at work, I cannot help thinking and dreaming, as you call it.".

"It shows that hard work is good for you," said William, with a cheerful smile.

"Well, perhaps it is. At any rate it must be done. Oh! William, if it were but hard work: I want to understand so many things. The short time which my father can give to us only seems to increase my thirst for knowledge."

"Yes, I feel this. But how tired he often appears to be; and how he passes his hand over his forehead, and has to think a minute or two before he answers our eager questions. I have noticed it more of late."

"And his hair, William-have you noticed his hair ?"

"Yes, it is beginning to turn gray. He works so hard for us all. And yet he never complains, but is always kind and cheerful."

"Neither must we complain," said I.

"And

I will not again, if I can help it; nor tease him with so many questions. It is very good of him to teach us at all, after toiling as he does."

From that day we were both careful to spare my father as much as possible. He never spared himself, or shrank from the performance of what he considered to be a duty, let him be ever so tired. Sometimes, upon these occasions, my brother and myself used to agree together to petition for a holiday, which he was too good-natured not to grant at once, thinking to give us pleasure. A holiday was no treat to us; and yet it was a pleasure to see how much he enjoyed it himself, and how the weary expression passed away from his face as he played with little Charley, or sat talking quietly to my dear mother. She was always glad for him to have this rest of mind and body, which indeed he much needed after the fatigues of the day, although he would never allow that this was the case. It did

him good, he said, to exert himself; it was a duty he owed to his children. He only wished that he had more time to devote to them. I have seen my mother's eyes fill with tears when he argued thus; but for our sakes she never attempted to persuade him from his selfimposed task. Nevertheless, as I have said, those holiday evenings were a quiet, happy time for both. Sometimes at their conclusion my father would say to us, "We must work hard for this to-morrow night, boys, to make up for lost time."

To which we would cheerfully reply, "Yes, yes; never fear. We will work hard. No more holidays-until next time. Eh, father?"

And then my mother would smile, and shake her head at us, and we used to run off laughing to bed, feeling pleased with ourselves for the little sacrifice which we had made. It was a sacrifice to us, although some of our young readers, with ample means and opportunities for improvement, will scarcely be able to understand how a brief holiday could seem such to boys of our age.

K

CHAPTER XIV.

A TIME OF TROUBLE.

SUMMER and winter passed away, the labour of the one scarcely sufficing for the necessities of the other. My father still toiled at his office, and my mother amidst her household tasks. Both had a worn and aged look. My brother and myself had sprung up like weeds. The baby was no longer a baby, nor Alice-little Alice. And all this time there was scarcely any change in our mode of life. I remember now that I used to question in my impatient restlessness, whether it would be ever thus.

We still continued to pursue our evening studies under our dear father's superintendence with increased avidity, although, at the period of which I write, William had somewhat neglected his, in order to devote himself more entirely to accounts. I have often wondered what pleasure he could derive from such pursuits. But I found it all out afterwards.