Ben walked back and forth, his hands thrust deeply in his pockets. "It's no use, Mamsie," he came now and stood straight before her, his blue eyes fastened steadily upon her face; "I've just got to do it."

"There is no need for you to say that, Ben." Mrs. Fisher's tone was quiet, but the blood was leaping in her veins. "You're my oldest child," then her voice broke.

"And that's the reason." Ben threw his head back and took his hands out of his pockets to clench them together hard. "It would be mean as—mean as anything to let Grandpapa do anything more for me, and—"

"There's where you are wrong, Ben," cried his mother, eagerly, and guilty of interrupting, "it is Mr. King's dearest wish to provide an education for you children; you can pay him back afterward. I have accepted for the others; why not for you?"

"Because,—look at Polly. Oh, mother, think what Polly can do with her music!" His whole face was working now, and his eyes shone.

"I know it," cried Mrs. Fisher, proudly. "Polly will be able to pay him back, there is no doubt about that."

"But I'm different," added Ben, quickly, "such a dull, plodding fellow. Oh, Mamsie, what would a college education amount to for me? I'm best to buckle right down to business."

"Ben, Ben!" Mother Fisher's tone was quite reproachful now, and she seized his hand and covered it with her two strong ones. "Any one can accomplish what he sets out to. You can amount to whatever you put your mind on; and you deserve a college education if ever a boy did." She broke down now and was sobbing on his shoulder.

Ben didn't say anything, this being quite beyond him, to see his mother cry. But he patted the smooth black hair with an unsteady hand.

"To think of your giving up your chance," at last Mrs. Fisher said brokenly; "it isn't right, Ben. Can't you see you ought not to do it?"

"But it is right," said Ben, sturdily recovering himself when he saw that his mother could really talk about it. "I'm to be a business man, and I'm going to begin at the very bottom, as an errand boy, or an office boy, and work up." Here he straightened his square shoulders as if already pretty near the top of things.

"Ah, Ben, my boy," Mrs. Fisher raised her head to look at him, "all you can get in the way of education helps you on just so much."

"And I can have all these years I'd be spending at college in learning the business," Ben hurried on, feeling if he didn't say something, he should surely break down; for there was such a world of pleading in the black eyes that he didn't dare to trust himself to look into them. "Don't you see, Mother? Besides,—well, I just can't do it."

When Ben called her "Mother," it always meant something requiring grave attention. So Mrs. Fisher knew as well then as afterward that it was a decided thing that Ben was to leave school and go into a business life. All she said now was, "Come," leading the way to the roomy old sofa, where the children used often to tell their troubles or joys to her as they sat side by side.

When Ben emerged from his mother's room, he held his head high, but his breath came hard, and one fist deep in his pocket was clenched tightly.

"Halloo!"—Joel plunged into him; "where've you been?" And, not waiting for a reply, "Grandpapa says I'm to go if you'll go with me,"—he swarmed all over him in his eagerness.

"Get off, Joe!" cried Ben, roughly. It seemed as if he couldn't bear any more just then, and he gave him, without stopping to think, a little shove.

Joel looked at him with very wide eyes.

"You're always hanging on to me," went on Ben, crossly, not realizing a word he was saying. "Goodness me, a chap can't stir but you must pop up."

Joel stood perfectly still, plastered against the wall, his mouth open, but not equal to uttering a word, as Ben stalked on down the hall.

"Oh, you think you're smart, I s'pose," at last it came in a burst behind him. "Well, I don't want you to go with me, Mr. Ben Pepper—Mr. Ebenezer Pepper." Joel could hardly get the long name out, being so wholly unaccustomed to its use. "And I will tell Grandpapa I wouldn't have you go with me for anything."

"Joel!" Ben called hoarsely after him, whirling in his tracks to see Joel fly down the hall. "Oh, come back."

"You aren't going," declared Joel, savagely, and stopping long enough to snap his fingers at Ben, "no-sir-ee, not a single step!" And despite all Ben's efforts he pranced off with a final jump that defied pursuit.

Ben stood perfectly still for a moment, then strode off up to his room, where he locked the door fast, went over and sat on the side of the bed, and buried his face in his hands.

How long he sat there he never knew. The first thing that brought him to himself was Polly's voice, and her fingers drumming on the door.

"Bensie, are you here? O dear me! Do open the door."

Ben took up his head at first with the wild thought that he wouldn't answer. But then, it was Polly calling, and such a thing as a locked door between them would never do. So he staggered off as best he might, not seeing his pale face in the mirror as he went by, and slowly turned the key.

"Oh, Ben! O dear me! What is it?" Polly cried, quite aghast at his face. She huddled up to him and grasped his arm. "Tell me, Ben," and the fright at seeing him thus drove every bit of color from her face.

"Nothing," said Ben, shortly, "that is—"

"Oh, now you are sick," cried Polly, quite wildly, and with another look into his face, usually so ruddy, she tore off her hands and raced toward the stairs. "I shall call Mamsie."

"Polly, Polly!" cried Ben, rushing out after her, "you must not call Mamsie. I'll tell you all about it, Polly. Polly, do come back."

But she didn't hear anything but the first words, that Mamsie must not be called, and feeling more sure than ever by this that Ben was really sick, she redoubled her speed and rushed into Mother Fisher's room, crying, "Oh, Mamsie, do come quickly; something is the matter with Ben."

Mrs. Fisher had sat down resolutely to her sewing after the decision had been made by Ben that put aside all her hopes for his future education. She now sprang to her feet, upsetting the big work-basket, and forgetting Polly, said, "It's been too much for him."

"What's been too much?" cried Polly, hanging to Mother Fisher's hand, her heart going like a trip-hammer. "Oh, Mamsie, what is the matter with Ben?" The room seemed to go round with her and everything to turn black.

"Polly," said Mrs. Fisher, firmly, "I cannot tell you anything now. You must stay here. I am going to see Ben." And Polly, left alone, had nothing to do but throw herself on the big, old sofa, where she crouched in her distress till Mamsie should come back and tell her all about the dreadful mystery.

For that something awful had happened to Ben, Polly was now quite sure, as she lay there, her head burrowed in the big pillow, the wildest thoughts running through her brain. The first thing she knew, a hard little hand was tucked into her neck. She knew Joel's tickles, that he loved to give her, long before he sang out, "Polly Pepper, lying down in the daytime! Aren't you ashamed?"

"Oh, Joel," cried Polly, in a smothered voice; "do go away," she begged.

For answer Joel slid to his knees and crowded his chubby face into the pillow. "Are you sick, Polly?" he cried, in an awe-struck voice.

"No," said Polly, wriggling hard to keep him from seeing her face; "do, please, go away, Joey."

"I know you're sick," contradicted Joel, stubbornly; and bounding to his feet, "Where's Mamsie?" peering all around the room.

Polly didn't answer, being unwilling to tell about Ben.

"Well, I shall go and find her," declared Joel, decidedly, preparing to rush off.

"You must not," cried Polly, bounding up to sit straight. "You mustn't and you can't, because—"

"Because what?" demanded Joel, coming back to the sofa to fasten his black eyes on her face.

"Oh, because—" began Polly, again casting frantically about in her mind what to say and twisting her handkerchief with nervous fingers.

"Now I know that my Mamsie is sick and you're keeping it from me," cried Joel, in a loud, insistent voice, "and I shall go and find her; so there, Polly Pepper."

"Joel, if you do," began Polly, desperately, seizing his jacket-end; then she knew he would have to be told when she saw his face, for nothing could be worse than to let him think anything had happened to Mamsie. "I'll tell you all about it," she promised; "do sit down," and she pulled him into the corner of the big sofa by her side; "you see it's about Ben."

Joel whirled around and fixed wide eyes of astonishment upon her.

"And I don't know in the least," said Polly, brokenly, "what's the matter with him. He acts so funny, Joel, you can't think," she brought up, mournfully, while she twisted her poor handkerchief worse than ever.

Joel pushed his face up to scan her thoughtfully to see if there were anything more forthcoming.

"And to think of it—Ben—" went on Polly in a fresh gust, "he's never acted so. O dear me! What can it be, Joel?"

In her distress she forgot that she was to comfort him, and she seized his arm and clung to it.

"It's me," blurted Joel, forgetting grammar and everything else, and pulling away from her, he slipped off the sofa and began a quick pace to the door.

"Where are you going?" Polly flew after him, and although he ran smartly, she had hold of his jacket-end. "Joel Pepper, you must not go up to Ben's room. Mamsie wouldn't let me."

"But I made him bad," said Joel, his face dreadfully red and twitching violently to get free.

"You made him bad," repeated Polly, faintly, and, tumbling backward in surprise, she let the jacket-end go. "O dear me!"

"And I'm going to make him well," screamed Joel, plunging off. She could hear him clambering up over the stairs two at a time.

"If I could only go too," mourned Polly, having nothing to do but go slowly back and shut herself into Mamsie's room, as bidden.

She threw herself down again on the old sofa, and buried her face in the pillows. It was Joel who bounded in and up to her side, calling, "Oh, Polly!" that sent her flying up to sit straight. "Ben wants you," he cried excitedly.

"Oh, Joel, what is it?" she exclaimed, flying off from the sofa; "what is the matter with Ben?"

"Nothing," said Joel, in high glee. As long as Ben wasn't sick, and he had made matters right with him, the rest could wait. So downstairs Joel ran to Grandpapa, to tell him that he had made a grand mistake; that he did want Ben to go on the expedition, no more nor less than a visit to the Museum.

"I thought so, my boy," said old Mr. King, patting him on the shoulder. "Now, if I were you, I wouldn't go off half-cocked again, especially with Ben. No doubt he was in the wrong, too. There are always two sides to a thing."

"Oh, no, he wasn't," protested Joel, terribly alarmed lest Ben should be blamed. "I was cross, Grandpapa. 'Twas all my fault." He was so distressed that the old gentleman hastened to add, "Yes, yes; well, there now, that's quite enough. As I've never seen Ben treat you one-half as badly as you deserve, sir, I'll believe you. Now be off with you, Joel!" and with a little laugh and another last pat he dismissed him.

Meantime Polly was having a perfectly dreadful time up in Ben's room. It took Mrs. Fisher as well as Ben to comfort her in the least for her dreadful disappointment that Ben was not going to accept a long and thorough education at Mr. King's hands.

But all this was as nothing to Grandpapa's dismay when the truth came out. And it took more than the combined efforts of the whole household to restore him to equanimity when he saw that Ben was actually not to be moved from his resolution. It was little Doctor Fisher who finally achieved the first bit of resignation reached.

"Now, my good sir;" the little man put himself, unasked, beside the stately figure pacing with ill-concealed irritation down the "long path." It was several days since Ben had made his announcement, and Grandpapa had been hoping against all obstacles that the boy would give in at the last. But to-day even that hope slipped away.

"Let me speak a word for Ben," the little Doctor went on, raising his big spectacles just as cheerfully to the clouded face as if a warm invitation had been extended him.

"Ben needs no words from you, Doctor Fisher," said Mr. King, icily; "I really consider the least said on this subject the better, perhaps."

"Perhaps—and perhaps not," said the little man, just as cheerily. It was impossible to quarrel with him or to shake him off, and Mr. King, realizing this, kept on his walk with long strides, Doctor Fisher skipping by his side, telling off the points of what he had come to say, on his nervous fingers.

"Do you realize," he said at length, "that you would break down all Ben's best powers if you had your way with him?"

"Hold on there, man," roared the old gentleman, coming to an abrupt pause in his walk, "do you mean to say, and do you take me for an idiot, which I should be if I believed it, that the more education a boy gets, the more he injures his chances for life?"

The little man squinted at the tips of the trees waving their skeleton branches in the crisp air, then brought a calm gaze to the excited old face: "Not exactly; but I do say when you make a boy like Ben turn from the path he has marked out for himself, all the education that culture would crowd on him is just so much to break down the boy. Ben wouldn't be Ben after you got through with him. Now be sensible." He got up on his tiptoes and actually bestowed a pat on the stately shoulder. "Ben wants to go to work. Give him his head,—you can trust him; and let's you and I keep our hands off from him."

And the little Doctor, having said his say, got down on his feet again and trotted off.

All the remainder of that day Grandpapa went around very much subdued. He even smiled at Ben, a thing he hadn't done ever since the dreadful announcement that gave a blow to all his plans for the boy. And at last it began to be understood that the skies were clear again, and that things after all were turning out for the best.

"But only to think of it," Grandpapa would go on to himself in the privacy of his own room, "mountain children can be brought down and set into schools, and the Van Ruypen money do the old lady some good,—and there is Pip,—see what she has got there,—and nobody to interfere with what she'll spend on him. And I—I am balked the very first thing. And I did so mean to do well by Ben; dear, dear!"

But as the matter was now decided and out of his hands, the next thing to do was to get Ben a good place where he could begin on his business career, sure of good training. So the following day old Mr. King dropped into the office of Cabot and Van Meter, for a little private conversation.

They welcomed him heartily, as usual, dismissing other applicants for the time, and shut the door to the private office, drawing up their chairs to listen attentively.

"No business to-day," was Mr. King's announcement, "that is, in the regular way. This that I have come to see you about is quite out of the ordinary. I want a place in your establishment for a young friend of mine."

The two gentlemen looked up in amazement. It wasn't in the least like Mr. King to ask such a thing, knowing quite well that to secure such a place required much waiting for the required vacancy. It was Mr. Cabot who spoke first.

"I suppose he is experienced," he began slowly.

"Not in the least," replied old Mr. King, shortly.

"Well, er—on what do you recommend him?" ventured Mr. Van Meter.

"I don't recommend him," the old gentleman answered in his crispest manner. "Bless you, I don't go about recommending people; you know that." He looked into each face so fiercely that they both exclaimed together, "No, of course not. We quite understand."

"Well, what do you want your young friend to have with us—what kind of a position?" asked Mr. Cabot, patting one knee in perplexity.

"Anything," said Mr. King. "Give him anything to do; only get him in here. I tell you he must come, and you've got to take him." He leaned forward in his chair and struck his walking-stick smartly on the floor.

"Who is he?" demanded Mr. Van Meter, feeling that the exigency of the case demanded few words.

"Ben Pepper."

"Ben Pepper!" ejaculated Mr. Cabot. "Why, I thought he was in school."

"He was," said old Mr. King, turning on him with considerable venom, as if he were quite to blame for the whole thing, "but he has made up his mind to go into business. A very poor thing in my opinion; but since he's decided it that way, there's no more to be said," and he waved it off with a nonchalant hand.

"Not so very poor a thing to do after all." Mr. Van Meter got off from his chair, stalked up and down the office floor, bringing his hands every now and then smartly together, to emphasize his periods: "I was but a slip of a lad when I got into the business groove, and I've never been sorry I drudged it early. Now, Mr. King, it wouldn't be well to give Ben any better chance than I had. He must begin at the bottom to amount to anything."

"He wouldn't take the chance if you gave it to him," said Mr. King, dryly. "Why, there's where Ben says he belongs—at the bottom."