"Have you told father yet?"

"No, but he will not care."

"Father _will_ care," I replied, "but you know since his misfortune, and
his conclusion that he cannot do anything but carry on the farm, he
seems to have lost his sprightly step and his cheery ways of old."

"Well, Emily," said Hal, "I am no help to him on the farm, and could not
be if I tried, and the work I am doing now is anything but satisfying to
me."

Then the thought occurred to me, I had no idea of what the boy desired
to accomplish, and the question what would you do Hal? was answered in
this wise--

"Wait till I've been away six months."

"To build mud houses and fill them with mud people, was your favorite
amusement when you were a boy, I remember," I said, and he gave me such
a queer look that I started with the impression that came with it, but
said no more, and we walked along and went into the house together.

The next day after dinner, when we were cleared up and alone in quiet, I
told mother. She was of course covered with surprise, but her words came
in wisdom and she said:

"I can imagine what Halbert desires to do, and although the way looks
anything but clear, still I know I can trust him anywhere. He is a