her mother's first words were, eagerly,--

"Well, Mercy, if we go 'n the stage, 'n' I s'pose we shall hev to, don't
ye think my old brown merino'll do to wear?"

Fortune favored Mercy's desire to sell the house. Stephen's friend, the
young minister, had said to himself many times, as he walked up to its
door between the quaint, trim beds of old-fashioned pinks and ladies'
delights and sweet-williams which bordered the little path, "This is the
only house in this town I want to live in." As soon as he heard that it
was for sale, he put on his hat, and fairly ran to buy it. Out of breath,
he took Mercy's hands in his, and exclaimed,--

"O Mercy, do you really want to sell this house?"

Very unworldly were this young man and this young woman, in the matter of
sale and purchase. Adepts in traffic would have laughed, had they
overheard the conversation.

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Allen, I do. I must sell it; and I am afraid I shall
have to sell it for a great deal less than it is worth," replied Mercy.

"No, you sha'n't, Mercy! I'll buy it myself. I've always wanted it. But
why in the world do you want to sell it? Where will you live yourself?
There isn't another house in the village you'd like half so well. Is it
too large for you?" continued Mr. Allen, hurriedly. Then Mercy told him
all her plans, and the sad necessity for her making the change. The young
minister did not speak for some moments. He seemed lost in thought. Then
he exclaimed,--