It was too much to expect that he would
immediately rally; but he let the young
people confer, and plan, and cheer each
other.

The first thing to be done, they agreed, was
to move hither, whenever the dismal rain
would permit it, all Abby's furniture that
could not be disposed of to her husband's
successors. It would fit up the lower room.
And Allan and Becky settled how the things
could stand so as to make it at once a
bedroom and sitting-room. If, as Abby had said,
she meant to try to get some scholars, and
keep a little school, room must be left to seat
the children.

"Keep a school?" exclaimed Woodruffe,
looking round at Abby.

"Yes, father," said Abby, raising her head.
"That seems to be a thing that I can do: and
it will be good for me to have something to
do. Becky is the stoutest of us all, and . . ."

"I wonder how long that will last," groaned
the father.

"I am quite stout now," said Becky; "and
I am the one to help Allan with the garden.
Allan and I will work under your direction,
father, while your rheumatism lasts; and . . ."

"And what am I to do?" asked Moss,
pushing himself in.

"You shall fetch and carry the tools," said
Becky; "that is, when the weather is fine,
and when your chilblains are not very bad.
And you shall be bird-boy when the sowing
season comes on."

"And we are going to put up a pent-house
for you, in one corner, you know, Moss," said
his brother. "And we will make it so that
there shall be room for a fire in it, where
father and you may warm yourselves, and
always have dry shoes ready."

"I wonder what our shoe leather will have
cost us by the time the spring comes,"
observed Woodruffe. "There is not a place where
we ever have to take the cart or the barrow
that is not all mire and ruts: not a path in
the whole garden that I call a decent one.
Our shoes are all pulled to pieces; while the
frost, or the fog, or something or other,
prevents our getting any real work done. The
waste is dreadful. Nothing should have
made me take a garden where none but
summer crops are to be had, if I could have
foreseen such a thing. I never saw such a
thing before,—never—as market-gardening
without winter and spring crops. Never
heard of such a thing!"

Becky glanced towards Allan, to see if he
had nothing to propose. If they could neither
mend the place nor leave it, it did seem a
hard case. Allan was looking into the fire,
musing. When Moss announced that the
rain was over, Allan started, and said he
must be fetching some of Abby's things
down, if it was fair. Becky really meant
to help him: but she also wanted opportunity
for consultation, as to whether it could really
be God's will that they should neither be able
to mend their condition nor to escape from it.
As they mounted the long flight of steps,
they saw Mr. Nelson issue from the Station,
looking about him to ascertain if the rain was
over, and take his stand on the embankment,
followed by a gentleman who had a roll of
paper in his hand. As they stood, the one
was seen to point with his stick, and the
other with his roll of paper, this way and
that. Allan set off in that direction, saying
to his sister, as he went,

"Don't you come. That gentleman is so
rude, he will make you cry. Yes, I must go;
and I won't get angry; I won't indeed. He
may find as much fault as he pleases; I must
show him how the water is standing in our
furrows."

"Hallo! what do you want here?" was Mr.
Nelson's greeting, when, after a minute or
two, he saw Allan looking and listening.
"What business have you here, hearkening
to what we are saying?"

"I wanted to know whether anything is
going to be done below there. I thought, if
you wished it, I could tell you something
about it."

"You! what, a dainty little fellow like you?
—a fellow that wears his Sunday clothes on a
Tuesday, and a rainy Tuesday too! You
must get working clothes and work."

"I shall work to-morrow, Sir. My mother
and my brother-in-law were buried to-day."

"Lord bless me! You should have told
me that. How should I know that unless
you told me?" He proceeded in a much
gentler tone, however, merely remonstrating
with Allan for letting the wet stand in the
furrows, in such a way as would spoil any
garden. Allan had a good ally, all the while,
in the stranger, who seemed to understand
everything before it was explained. The
gentleman was, in fact, an agricultural
surveyor one who could tell, when looking
abroad from a height, what was swamp and
what meadow; where there was a clean
drain, and where an uneven ditch; where
the soil was likely to be watered, and where
flooded by the winter rains; where genially
warmed, and where fatally baked by the
summer's sun. He had seen, before Allan
pointed it out, how the great ditch cut across
between the cultivated grounds and the little
river into which those grounds should be
drained: but he could not know, till told by
Allan, who were the proprietors and occupiers
of the parcels of land lying on either side the
ditch. Mr. Nelson knew little or nothing
under this head, though he contradicted the
lad every minute; was sure such an one did
not live here, nor another there: told him he
was confusing Mr. Smith and Mr. Brown: did
not believe a word of Mr. Taylor having
bought yonder meadow, or Mrs. Scott now
renting that field. All the while, the surveyor
went on setting down the names as Allan told
them; and then observed that they were not
so many but that they might combine, if they