"Wait till I die, Arden, wait till I die. I feel it won't be long.
What have I to live for but you and Rosy? And if you, my pride and
joy, go away after what has happened, it will be worse than death,"
and a tempest of grief shook her gaunt frame.

Arden was deeply moved. Boylike he had been thinking only of himself,
but now as never before he realized her hard lot, and in his warm,
impulsive heart there came a yearning tenderness for her such as he
had never felt before. He took her in his arms and kissed and
comforted her, till even her sore heart felt the healing balm of love
and ceased its bitter aching. At last she dried her eyes and said with
a faint smile: "With such a boy to pet me, the world isn't all flint
and thorns yet."

And Rosy came and kissed her too, for she was an affectionate child,
though a little inclined to be giddy and vain.

"Don't worry, mother," said Arden. "I will stay and take such good
care of you that you will have many years yet, and happier ones, too,
I hope," and he resolved to keep this promise, cost what it might.

"I hardly think I ought to ask it of you, though even the thought of
your going away breaks my heart." "I will stay," said the boy, almost
as passionately as he had said, "I will go." "I now see how much you
need a protector."

That night the father came home so stupidly drunk that they had to
half carry him to bed where he slept heavily till morning, and rose
considerably shaken and depressed from his debauch. The breakfast was