former had long acknowledged her son's will as her law; and the latter,
though surprised and almost disappointed at a change of purpose which he
had never anticipated in his plans for Edward's benefit, gave his consent,
and even advanced some of the money requisite for the premium.

Maggie looked upon this change with mingled feelings. She had always from a
child pictured Edward to herself as taking her father's place. When she had
thought of him as a man, it was as contemplative, grave, and gentle, as she
remembered her father. With all a child's deficiency of reasoning power,
she had never considered how impossible it was that a selfish, vain,
and impatient boy could become a meek, humble, and pious man, merely by
adopting a profession in which such qualities are required. But now, at
sixteen, she was beginning to understand all this. Not by any process of
thought, but by something more like a correct feeling, she perceived that
Edward would never be the true minister of Christ. So, more glad and
thankful than sorry, though sorrow mingled with her sentiments, she learned
the decision that he was to be an attorney.

Frank Buxton all this time was growing up into a young man. The hopes both
of father and mother were bound up in him; and, according to the difference
in their characters was the difference in their hopes. It seemed, indeed,
probable that Mr. Buxton, who was singularly void of worldliness or
ambition for himself, would become worldly and ambitious for his son. His
hopes for Frank were all for honor and distinction here. Mrs. Buxton's
hopes were prayers. She was fading away, as light fades into darkness on a
summer evening. No one seemed to remark the gradual progress; but she was
fully conscious of it herself. The last time that Frank was at home from
college before her death, she knew that she should never see him again;
and when he gaily left the house, with a cheerfulness, which was partly
assumed, she dragged herself with languid steps into a room at the front