"Phineas!"--and she planted herself before me at the end of the
table--"it's a fine, sunshiny day: thee ought to be out."

"I have been out, thank you, Jael." And John and I went on talking.

"Phineas!"--a second and more determined attack--"too much laughing
bean't good for thee; and it's time this lad were going about his own
business."

"Hush!--nonsense, Jael."

"No--she's right," said John Halifax, rising, while that look of
premature gravity, learned doubtless out of hard experience, chased
all the boyish fun from his face. "I've had a merry day--thank you
kindly for it! and now I'll be gone."

Gone! It was not to be thought of--at least, not till my father came
home. For now, more determinedly than ever, the plan which I had
just ventured to hint at to my father fixed itself on my mind.
Surely he would not refuse me--me, his sickly boy, whose life had in
it so little pleasure.

"Why do you want to go? You have no work?"

"No; I wish I had. But I'll get some."

"How?"

"Just by trying everything that comes to hand. That's the only way.
I never wanted bread, nor begged it, yet--though I've often been