fit sooner than you think."

Her brother lifted his shoulders and made a grimace. "I've an
unlucky name, it seems," said he. "The old fellow--I mean Friend
Simon--pronounced it outlandish. Couldn't I change it to Ezra or
Adonijah?"

"Boy, boy--"

"Don't be alarmed, father. It will soon be as Sylvia says; thee's
right, and mother is right. I'll let Sylvia keep my memory, and
start fresh from here. We must into the field to-morrow, Hal and
I. There's no need of a collar at the plough-tail."

They went to rest, and on the morrow not only the boys, but their
father were in the field. Shrewd, quick, and strong, they made
available what they knew of farming operations, and disguised much
of their ignorance, while they learned. Henry Donnelly's first
public appearance had made a strong public impression in his favor,
which the voice of the older Friends soon stamped as a settled
opinion. His sons did their share, by the amiable, yielding temper
they exhibited, in accommodating themselves to the manners and ways
of the people. The graces which came from a better education,
possibly, more refined associations, gave them an attraction, which
was none the less felt because it was not understood, to the
simple-minded young men who worked with the hired hands in their
fathers' fields. If the Donnelly family had not been accustomed,
in former days, to sit at the same table with laborers in
shirt-sleeves, and be addressed by the latter in fraternal phrase,
no little awkwardnesses or hesitations betrayed the fact. They