"Charley, we cannot see into the future," spoke Edina, pausing for a moment in her work to look at him, a newly begun net in her hand. "If we could, we might foresee, even now, how good and necessary this discipline is for us. It may be, Charley, that you needed it; that we all needed it, more or less. Take it as a cross that has come direct from God; bear it as well as you are able; do your best in it and trust to Him. Rely upon it that, in His own good time, He will lighten it for you. And He will take care of you until it passes away." Charles took up the poker; recollected himself, and put it down again. Fires might not be lavishly stirred now, as they had been at Eagles' Nest. Mrs. Raynor had been obliged to make a rule that no one should touch the fire excepting herself and Edina. "It is not for myself I am thus impatient to get employment," resumed Charles. "But for the rest of them, I would go off to-morrow and enlist. If I could only earn twenty pounds a-year to begin with, it would be a help; better than nothing." Only two or three months ago he had said, If I can only get a hundred a-year. Such lessons of humility adversity teaches! "Twenty pounds a-year would pay the rent," observed Edina. "I never thought it could be so hard to get into something. I supposed that when young men wanted employment they had only to seek it. It does seem wrong does it not, Charley, that an able and willing young fellow should not be able to work when he wishes to do so?" "Enlisting would relieve you of myself: and the thought is often in my mind," observed Charles. "On the other hand----" "On the other hand, you had better not think of it," she interposed firmly. "We should not like to see you in the ranks, Charley. A common soldier is----" "Hush, Edina! here comes the mother." But luck was dawning for Charley. Only a small slice of luck, it is true; and what, not so very long ago, he would have scorned. Estimating things by his present hopeless condition, it looked fair enough. One bleak morning, a day or two after the above conversation, Charley was slowly pacing Fleet Street, wondering where he could go next, what do. A situation, advertised in that morning's paper, had brought him up, post haste. As usual, it turned out a failure: to be successful, the applicant must put down fifty pounds in cash. So that chance was gone: and there was Charles, uncertain, and miserable. "Halloa, Raynor! Is it you?" A young stripling about his own age had run against him. At the first moment Charles did not know him: but recollection flashed on his mind. It was Peter Hartley: a lad who had been a schoolfellow of his in Somersetshire. "I am going to get my dinner," said Hartley, after a few sentences had passed. "Will you come and take some with me?"