"Yes, that is so. But there are farms enough in the country for them all. And there is no one to take the deacon's farm but Jabez. However, we may hope that `the profit of the earth' will seem more to him after he has sowed and reaped for his own benefit." "I think Jabez would make a scholar. It is in him to succeed." "Possibly. Oh, yes, he is a smart boy! If he has got the notion, he'll go ahead with it. He's not a bad boy either, though the grandfather has had--or rather has dreaded--trouble with him!" And so they talked on for a while about the garden and other things, till the doctor rose as if to go away; and then he said, speaking very gently, just what Eunice had all along known that he came to say--"Do you think you had better wait any longer, Eunice?" "I suppose it will make me no worse to know just how it is," she said faintly. "It will be far better to know all that can be known. I cannot but think you may be dreading what will never come to you. You have had a lonesome winter. And you have had a hard life, dear." Eunice smiled, but shook her head. "I don't think I have been very lonesome. And I have not had a hard life--taking it all together. Think how happy my life was till I was twenty!" "Yes, dear, I know. And since then it has been more than happy. It has been a blessed life of help to others. But it has been a hard life too, in one way. Let us see now how it is with you." "But first let me say one word," said Eunice, laying her hand on the doctor's arm. "I don't think I am afraid. I think I am willing that it shall be as God wills. But it may be long; and I will not, while I can help it, have my Fidelia know what is before me. And, doctor, I shall need your silence and your help--" "To deceive her?" The doctor sat down again and covered his eyes with his hand for a moment. "To deceive her," repeated he, "and to break her heart afterwards with unavailing regret?" "Oh, she will have to know after a while, but--not as long as we can keep it from her!" There was silence for a minute or two. "Well, we will wait and see. I will not speak to her till you shall give me leave to do so." Then there were a few grave questions, and a few quiet replies; and then the doctor said,-- "Take courage, Eunice! I would say to almost any one else, `There is no cause for anxiety.' But having known so well the last years of your grandmother's life, I can hardly say you have nothing to fear from the disease that was fatal to her; but I do say that, as far as I can judge from your present condition, you may reasonably hope for a good many years of comfortable health. You should have spoken to me sooner, and spared yourself a time of anxiety." He did not see the look of relief on which he had counted--at least he did not see it for a moment. "Thank you, Dr Everett," she said at last. "And now nothing need be said to Fidelia." "Why do you fear for Fidelia? Your sister is braver and stronger than you think."