As Father Brighthopes entered the sitting-room on the following morning, he found Mr. and Mrs. Royden engaged in a warm and not very good-natured discussion.

"Come, wife, let us leave it to our wise old friend," said the former, the frown passing from his brow. "I agree to do as he says."

"He cannot possibly appreciate my feelings on the subject," replied Mrs. Royden, firmly. "But you can tell him what we were talking about, if you like."

The old man's genial smile was sufficient encouragement for Mr. Royden to proceed; but his wife added, quickly,

"I don't know, though, why you should weary him with details of our troubles. It is our business to make him comfortable, and not to call on him to help us out of our difficulties."

"My dear sister," said Father Brighthopes, warmly, "the joyful business of my life is to help. I did not come to see you merely to be made comfortable. I shall think I have lived long enough when I cease to be of service to my great family. These hands are not worth much now," he continued, cheerfully, "but my head is old enough to be worth something; and when I am grown quite childish, if I live to see the time, I trust God will give me still a use, if it is nothing more than to show the world how hopeful, how sunny, how peaceful, old age can be."

"I cannot think of a nobler use," said Mr. Royden, "since to see you so must lead the young to consider those virtues to which you owe your happiness. Selfish lives never ripen into such beautiful old age. But to our affair. To-day is Saturday; next week commences a busy time. We go into the hay-field Monday morning. I shall have two stout mowers, who will board with us, and, as they will probably want some more solid food than apples and nuts," said Mr. Royden, with quiet humor, "the consequence will be an increase of labor in the kitchen."

"I should think so!" cried the old man. "What delightfully keen appetites your strong laborers have!"

"And Mr. Royden insists on it," added the wife, "that I should have a girl to help me!"

"Certainly, I do; isn't the idea rational, Father Brighthopes?"

"There are a good many objections to it," said Mrs. Royden. "In the first place, the children recommence going to school Monday morning, and I shall not have them in the way. If ever I was glad of anything, it is that Miss Selden is well enough to take charge of the children again; she has been off a fortnight; and I have been nearly crazed with noise; but, the truth is, Father Brighthopes, girls are generally worse than no help at all. Not once in a dozen times do we ever get a good one. I have had experience; besides, Hepsy is very willing and industrious."

"She works too hard even now, wife—you must see it. She is weakly; before you think of it, she goes beyond her strength."

"I don't mean she shall hurt herself," observed Mrs. Royden, incredulously. "Sarah will apply herself more than she has done; and, for at least a week, Samuel will be too lame to go into the field, and he can help around the house."

Her husband laughed heartily.

"With your experience, I should not think you would expect to get much out of him," said he.

"To tell the plain truth, then," added his wife, "we cannot very well afford the expense of a girl."

"What's a dollar and a quarter a week?"

"We cannot get a good girl for less than a dollar and a half, at this season of the year; and that is a good deal. It runs up to fifty dollars in a few months. I don't mean to be close, but it stands us in hand to be economical."

"There are two ways of being economical," said Mr. Royden.

"It is not the right way to be running up a bill of expense with a girl who does not, in reality, earn more than her board, which is to be taken into consideration, you know. We have kept either Sarah or Chester at a high-school now for two years; in a little while, James will be going—then Lizzie—then—nobody knows how many more."

"The more the better!"

Mrs. Royden answered her husband's good-natured sally with a sigh.

"You would bring us to the poor-house, some day, if you did not have me to manage, I do believe," she said.

"Somehow," replied Mr. Royden, "we have always been able to meet all our expenses, and more too, although you have never ceased to prophesy the poor-house; and I see nothing rotten in the future. Come, now, I am sure our old and experienced friend, here, will counsel us to rely a little more than we have done upon an overruling Providence."

"We must help ourselves, or Providence will not help us," retorted Mrs. Royden.

"There is a middle course," remarked Father Brighthopes, mildly.

"Define it," said Mr. Royden.

"Have a reasonable care for the things of this world; but there is such a thing as a morbid fear of adversity. I am convinced that we please God best when we take life easily; when we are thankful for blessings, and do not offend the Giver by distrusting his power or will to continue his good gifts."

"There, wife! what do you think of that?"

"It sounds very well, indeed," said Mrs. Royden; "but even if we forget ourselves, we must think of the future of our children."

"My experience is wide," answered the old man, smiling, "and it teaches me that those young people get along the best, and live the happiest, who commence life with little or nothing. Discipline, of the right kind, makes a good disposition; and a good disposition is better than silver and gold."

Something in the tone in which the words were uttered, or in the old man's simple and impressive manner, struck Mrs. Royden, as well as her husband, very forcibly. And when Mr. Royden added that "they had always got along better than they expected, so far, and he did not see the wisdom of hoarding up money for an uncertain future," she gave a partial consent to the arrangement he proposed.

"That is enough!" he cried, triumphantly; "I am sick of seeing house affairs rush forward in haste and confusion, whenever we have workmen. I mean to take life easier than I have done; and I see no reason why you should not. What cannot be done easily, let it go undone. Things will come around somehow, at the end of the year. I have to thank you, Father Brighthopes," said he, "for a clearer insight into this philosophy than I ever had before."

The old man's face shone with gratification.

"If I'm to have any girl," spoke up Mrs. Royden, "I prefer the Bowen girl, if I can get her."

"I'll ride right over for her, after breakfast," replied her husband; "and Father Brighthopes shall go with me, if he will."

The old man desired nothing better, and the arrangement was resolved upon.

As soon as breakfast was over, Mr. Royden went to harness Old Bill. He brought him to the door, and inquired for the clergyman.

"He went to his room," said Sarah; "shall I call him?"

"No; I will go myself."

On entering the parlor, Mr. Royden heard a voice proceeding from the bedroom beyond, and paused. A strange feeling of awe came over him. He was not a religious man; but he could not hear the fervent soul of the clergyman pouring itself out in prayer, without being deeply impressed. He had never heard such simple, childlike, eloquent expressions of thankfulness, gush from human lips. The old man prayed for him; for his family; for the blessings of peace and love to fall thick upon their heads, and for the light of spiritual life to enter into their hearts. His whole soul seemed to go up in that strong and radiant flood of prayer.

When he ceased, Mr. Royden might have been seen to pause and wipe his eyes, before he knocked at the door. Father Brighthopes opened with alacrity. His face was glowing with unearthly joy, and there was a brightness in his eyes Mr. Royden had never observed before.