His mother lived in a neighboring town, and was in humble
circumstances. She supported herself by keeping a shop for the sale of
various little articles. The old lady sat behind her counter, one
afternoon, sewing, and thinking of her only son.

"Ah, me!" she sighed, "I thought Henry would have done something for
himself long before this; but he is a wild, free-hearted boy, and
spends everything as he goes."

"Here's a letter for you at last, Mrs. Peyton," said the well-known
voice of the postman, breaking in upon her just at this moment.

With trembling hands, Mrs. Peyton broke the seal; a bank-bill crumpled
in her fingers as she opened the letter. A portion of its contents
read:--

"Dear Mother: I have had some very serious thoughts of late about my
way of living. You know I never liked to be considered mean; this led
me to be, what seemed to everybody, very generous. Everybody was
pleased to eat, and drink, and ride at my expense; but no one seemed
inclined to let me do the same at his expense. I have been getting a
good salary for six or seven years, and for a part of that time, as
much as a thousand dollars. I am ashamed to say that I have not a
farthing laid by; nay, what is worse, I owe a good many little bills.
But, dear mother, I think I have come fairly to my senses. I have come
to a resolution not to spend a dollar foolishly; thus far I have been
able to keep my promise to myself, and, by the help of Heaven, I mean
to keep it to the end. My first thought, on seeing my folly, was of my
shameful disregard to my mother's condition. In this letter are ten