"Well, then, Nell, I'm going to make a suggestion. What you have said shows me that simple advice would be of no use in this case. Don't think, girl, that I don't get at your way of seeing the matter. If I appear cold toward it, if I don't seem to sympathize, it's because the logical results would land you in a hole from which I'd feel a call by and by to try to pull you out. See?--As a promise to keep inside of your income would apparently embitter life to you, I won't ask for it, merely suggesting the fitness of trying to observe such a restriction. Even as regards your power to throw it away, there'll be a lot more of it to throw if you respect your capital. However, the money is yours, to do exactly what you please with, but this I ask: empower me to turn some part of it into an annuity, unalienable and modestly sufficient." "An annuity? What's that?" "A sum of money so fixed that you receive the interest as long as you live and have no power over the sum itself. It's not yours to use, to transfer or yet to bequeath. In your case the one safe investment, the single way I see to keep you out of the poorhouse." "Do you say so! All right, Tom; do what you think best. But see here. Whatever you arrange for me that way, you've got to arrange for Hattie, too, or it wouldn't be fair. I won't think of it unless you'll do the same for both. If I hadn't a penny left in the world, you know the Carvers would take me in in a minute. Then if you do it, don't you see," she brought in slyly, "when I've spent my money, there'll always be Hattie's for me to fall back on. Don't let her know you're doing it, Tom, but fix it." "All right. Two comfortable little annuities, enough to be independent on, and be taken care of if you're sick." "That's it, Tom. Then everybody's mind will be set at rest. And this I promise: I'll try to be a good girl." That subject being dropped, there was silence for a minute or two, while Tom thoughtfully smoked. Aurora's face was a living rose with the excitement of their discussion. She put her hands to her cheeks to feel how they burned, then turned to Tom to laugh with him over it. The pink of her face enhanced the blueness of her eyes. It was not unusual for persons sitting near Aurora, women as well as men, to feel a sudden desire to squeeze her in their arms and tell her how sweet she was. Tom found himself saying a thing he had taken a solemn engagement with himself not to say. "I had hoped"--his utterance was slow and heavy--"to find a different solution to the difficulty." Her face questioned him, and at once looked troubled. "I was going to try to take over all your difficulties and bundle them up with my own; but," he continued, after a moment, with force, "I'm not going to do it."