a genuine success as a writer, and put yourself in a position to earn
money enough to buy a great many comforts and pleasures for yourself, and
your mother also," he said.

At the mention of her mother, Mercy started, and exclaimed irrelevantly,--

"Dear me! I never once thought of mother."

Mr. Allen looked, as well he might, mystified. "Never once thought of her!
What do you mean, Mercy?"

"Why, I mean I never once thought about telling her about the money. She
wouldn't like it."

"Why not? I should think she would not only like the money, but be very
proud of your being able to earn it in such a way."

"Perhaps that might make a difference," said Mercy, reflectively: "it
would seem quite different to her from taking in sewing, I suppose."

"Well, I should think so," laughed Mr. Allen. "Very different, indeed."

"But it's earning money, working for money, all the same," continued
Mercy; "and you haven't the least idea how mother feels about that. Father
must have been full of queer notions. She got it all from him. But I can't
see that there is any difference between a woman's taking money for what
she can do, and a man's taking money for what he can do. I can do sewing,
and you can preach; and of the two, if people must go without one or the
other, they could do without sermons better than without clothes,--eh, Mr.
Allen?" and Mercy laughed mischievously. "But once when I told mother I