So the summer wore on, with great comfort to most parties. Perhaps Winthrop was an exception. He had given comfort, if he had not found it. He had been his mother's secret stand-by; he had been her fishmonger, her gamekeeper, her head gardener, her man-at-need in all manner of occasions. His own darling objects meanwhile were laid upon the shelf. He did his best. But after a day's work in the harvest field, and fishing for eels off the rocks till nine o'clock at night, what time was there for Virgil or Graeca Minora? Sometimes he must draw up his nets in the morning before he went to the field; and the fish must be cleaned after they were taken. Sometimes a half day must be spent in going after fruit. And whenever the farm could spare him for a longer time, he was off to the woods with his gun; to fetch home rabbits at least, if no other game was to be had. But all the while his own ground lay waste. To whomsoever the summer was good, he reckoned it a fruitless summer to him. In the multitude of their enjoyments of out-door things, the girls took very naturally to the unwonted ways and usages of the country household. The farm living and the farm hours seemed to have no disgust for them. In the hot weather the doors often all stood open; and they sat in the keeping-room, and in the kitchen, and in their own room, and seemed to find all pleasant. So one night Elizabeth and Mrs. Landholm were alone in the kitchen. It was a cool evening, though in midsummer, and they had gathered round the kitchen fire as being the most agreeable place. The children were long gone to bed; the rest of the family had at length followed them; Elizabeth and Mrs. Landholm alone kept their place. The one was darning some desperate-looking socks; the other, as usual, deep in a book. They had been very still and busy for a long time; and then as Elizabeth looked up for a moment and glanced at the stocking- covered hand of her neighbour, Mrs. Landholm looked up; their eyes met. Mrs. Landholm smiled. "Do you like anything so well as reading, Miss Elizabeth?" "Nothing in the world! What _are_ you doing, Mrs. Landholm?" "Mending -- some of the boys' socks," she said cheerfully; "farmers are hard upon their feet." "Mending -- _that?_" said Elizabeth. "What an endless work!" "No, not endless," said the mother quietly. "Thick shoes and a great deal of stepping about, make pretty hard work with stockings." "But, Mrs. Landholm! -- it would be better to buy new ones, than to try to mend such holes." Mrs. Landholm smiled again -- a smile of grave and sweet life- wisdom. "Did it ever happen to you to want anything you could not have, Miss Elizabeth?" "No -- never," said Elizabeth slowly. "You have a lesson to learn yet." "I hope I sha'n't learn it," said Elizabeth. "It must be learned," said Mrs. Landholm gently. "Life would not be life without it. It is not a bad lesson either."