especially nagged him about it. He might have passed her words off as the
whims of childishness, but she was not alone in her condemnations.

"Henry, you are not doing right. Austin is only a little boy and you are
laying on him too great a burden," she would say.

"That is where you are mistaken, Mother. Austin is as tall as I am, and
plenty strong enough to do all he is doing. They are getting along fine.
Austin says so in his letters," he would answer.

"You are not doing right," retorted his mother, and her tones implied more
than her words.

It seemed strange to Mr. Hill that he could not make any one understand the
situation. Austin had been willing to stay. He had expressed no reluctance
at all, and every week brought a letter from the children telling how well
they were getting along. He was not hurt by any remorse at their words, but
it seemed to him that they were unnecessarily partial to Austin in their
judgment, and he felt a sort of animosity toward him on that account.
Austin was only doing his duty by the children, so why should he be so
praised and pitied? But a man can not long stand the bite of a fly without
flinching, and Henry Hill found that he must do something to rid himself of
these criticisms. He hated to do it, but he would have to send for the
children and again set up housekeeping.

"O Elizabeth," he thought, "why did you have to be taken from me when I
need you so much? If you were here, I would not have all this to bear. You
made my life easy and happy."

It was with satisfaction that Mother Hill listened to her son explain that