keenly, as month after month passed by, and nobody would rent the other
half of the house in which he and his mother lived. Small as the rent
was, it was a matter of great moment to them; for his earnings as clerk
and copyist were barely enough to give them food. He was still retained by
his father's partner in the same position which he had held during his
father's life. But old Mr. Williams was not wholly free from the general
prejudice against Stephen, as an aristocratic fellow, given to dreams and
fancies; and Stephen knew very well that he held the position only as it
were on a sort of sufferance, because Mr. Williams had loved his father.
Moreover, law business in Penfield was growing duller and duller. A
younger firm in the county town, only twelve miles away, was robbing them
of clients continually; and there were many long days during which Stephen
sat idle at his desk, looking out in a vague, dreamy way on the street
below, and wondering if the time were really coming when Mr. Williams
would need a clerk no longer; and, if it did come, what he could possibly
find to do in that town, by which he could earn money enough to support
his mother. At such times, he thought uneasily of the possibility of
foreclosing the mortgage on the old Jacobs house, selling the house, and
reinvesting the money in a more advantageous way. He always tried to put
the thought away from him as a dishonorable one; but it had a fatal
persistency. He could not banish it.

"Poor, half-witted old woman! she might a great deal better be in the
poor-house."

"There is no reason why we should lose our interest, for the sake of
keeping her along."

"The mortgage was for too large a sum. I doubt if the old house could
sell to-day for enough to clear it, anyhow." These were some of the