The grief of Mrs. Raymond and her two children, for the death of the husband and father, was very sharp and poignant. Had he died at home of some lingering illness, their minds would have been prepared in some measure for the stroke. But, cut off as he was in an instant, the blow fell upon them very heavily.

On the third day after the body was found, the funeral took place. Harry attended as chief mourner, for his mother was compelled to remain at home on account of illness. But when the funeral was over other cares forced themselves upon their attention. It is only the rich who can afford to give themselves up unreservedly to the luxury of grief. The poor must rouse themselves to battle for their bread. In Mr. Raymond’s death his family had not only lost an affectionate husband and father, but the one upon whom they had leaned for support. How they were to live in future was a question which demanded their earliest consideration.

They were gathered in the little sitting-room one evening about a week after Mr. Raymond’s death. Mrs. Raymond was looking sad and pale, while Harry’s face was sober and earnest. He already began to realize that his father’s cares and responsibilities had fallen on his young shoulders, and that it was his duty to take that father’s place as well as he should be able.

“It is time, mother,” he said, “that we began to talk about our future plans.”

“I am sure I don’t know what we shall do,” said his mother, sighing, for to her the future looked formidable.

But Harry was young, healthy, and sanguine, and his spirits were lighter.

“Whatever we do, mother,” he said, “we won’t despond. There are a great many ways of getting a living, and I know that we shall get along somehow.”

“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Raymond, dubiously.

“Do you remember that piece I spoke the other day?”

“The one you got the prize for, Harry?” said his sister.

“It wasn’t for that only, but for speaking the whole term. The piece began with ‘Sink or Swim;’ and I told you then that I meant to take that for my motto.”

“What do you mean, Harry?”

“I mean this, mother,” said Harry, with energy, “that, sink or swim, I am going to do my best; and if I do that, I think it’ll be swim and not sink.”

“But you are so young, Harry,” said his mother, not very hopefully.

“I am fifteen,” said Harry, drawing himself up. “I am well and strong, and I can work.”

“I don’t know what you can find to do.”

“Oh, there are plenty of things,” said Harry, cheerfully, though rather vaguely. It would, perhaps; have puzzled him to enumerate the plenty of things; but he was hopeful and confident, and that was in his favor.

“Do you think you could build houses, Harry?” asked Katy.

“None that would be worth living in,” he said, smiling. “I don’t mean to be a carpenter. It would take too long to learn, and the pay is never very large. But the first thing to do, mother, is to see how we stand.”

“There’s this house. That is all we have, and Squire Turner holds a mortgage on that.”

“The mortgage is seven hundred dollars. How much has been paid on it?”

“Three hundred dollars.”

“Then we own it all except four hundred dollars. It is worth fully twelve hundred dollars, so that we are worth at least eight hundred dollars.”

“That won’t last very long,” said Mrs. Raymond.

“Not if we spend it; but I hope we shan’t have to do that. Still it gives us something to fall back upon, in case I don’t succeed very well at first. Then there is the furniture; that must be worth at least two hundred dollars.”

“It cost considerably more.”

“Never mind, we will call it two hundred dollars. You see,” he added, cheerfully, “we have got up to a thousand already. Now, mother, have you got any money in the house?”

“About twenty-five dollars.”

“That is not much, but it is something. I suppose that is all.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Well, it isn’t so bad as it might be. Think of those who are left wholly destitute, with starvation staring them in the face. When you think of that, we are quite rich in comparison.”

“I might have had something to help along,” said Mrs. Raymond, “but my father lost what little property we had before he died, and left nothing at all.”

“Wasn’t he a soldier in the war of 1812?” inquired Harry.

“Yes, he served for over a year.”

“Didn’t he get any pension, or anything else from government?”

“No, he got no pension. He got a grant of land—eighty acres, I believe—somewhere out in Wisconsin.”

“What did he do with the land?”

“He never did anything. Land was only a dollar and a quarter an acre, and nobody would give him that. An agent offered him twenty-five dollars for his grant, but he would not take it. Then he put away the paper, and never did anything more about it.”

“Have you got the paper now, mother?” asked Harry, interested.

“Yes, I believe so. I think I have it somewhere in my bureau.”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble I would like to see it. Can’t I find it?”

“No, I will go for it.”

Mrs. Raymond went upstairs, and shortly returned with a paper yellow with age, setting forth that Henry Mann, in consideration of services rendered to the government, was entitled to a quarter section of land, the location of which was specified.

“A quarter section!” said Harry. “That’s a hundred and sixty acres,—more than you thought.”

“Is it?” said Mrs. Raymond, listlessly. “I suppose it doesn’t make much difference now which it is. After so long a time there is no chance of getting it, and I suppose it wouldn’t be worth much.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Harry. “At any rate it’s worth looking into. Shall I keep the paper?”

“Yes, if you wish.”

“I will go round to-morrow, and see Squire Turner, and perhaps he can give me some information about it. But we haven’t talked about our plans yet.”

“I have thought of nothing.”

“But I have. I will tell you about it, and see what you think. First, I thought of hiring some land, and turning farmer; but that’s hard work, and requires more knowledge than I have got. Besides, I don’t believe I could earn much.”

“No; I don’t think you could earn much that way.”

“Then I thought I might go to the city, and get a small stock of goods, and go round peddling. Or, perhaps, I might get the agency for some popular article, and travel about with it.”

“I am afraid it would be a great undertaking. Besides, you have no money to invest.”

“That’s true; but I could raise some. Squire Turner might advance me one hundred dollars, and increase the mortgage to that amount. A hundred dollars, or even less, would buy all the goods I should want at one time. That would be my capital in trade. As soon as I made money enough, I would pay it back, and then we should be as well off as we are now.”

“I don’t know what to think,” said Mrs. Raymond, sighing. “I never had any head for business. I always left those things to your father.”

“But you will consent to my asking such a loan?”

“Yes; if you really think it will do any good.”

“I do. Remember my motto, mother, ‘Sink or swim!’ I’ve made up my mind to swim.”

Thus ended the conference. Harry saw that it was as his mother said,—she had no head for business. He must form his own plans, and carry them through without assistance.