and hinted that he was living rather too fast. None were prepared to
give him what he wanted.

Troubled, mortified, and humbled, Brainard retired to his
comfortable home on the evening before the day on which his note
given for the piano was to fall due. Nearly his last effort to raise
money had been made, and he saw nothing but discredit, and what he
feared even worse than that before him. Involved as he was in debt,
there was no safety from the sharp talons of the law. They might
strike him at any moment, and involve all in ruin.

Poor Brainard! How little pleasure did the sight of his large and
pleasant house give him as it came in view on his return home. It
stood, rather as a monument of extravagance and folly, than the
abode of sweet contentment.

"Three hundred dollars rent!" he murmured. "Too much for me to pay."
And sighed deeply.

He entered his beautiful parlour, and gazed around upon the elegant
furniture which he had provided as a means of comfort. All had lost
its power to communicate pleasure. There stood the costly piano,
once coveted and afterwards admired. But it possessed no charm to
lay the troubled spirit within him. He had bought it as a marriage
present for his wife, who had little taste for music, and preferred
reading or sewing to the blandishment of sweet sounds. And for this
toy--it was little more in his family--a debt of four hundred
dollars had been created. Had it brought him an equivalent in
comfort? Far, very far from it.