As usual, Jack's wishes prevailed. Afterward, when Bethany had tucked him snugly in bed, and was sitting alone by the fire, listening to the queer noises in the chimney, she wished they had not dwelt so long on such a grewsome subject. She leaned back in her father's great arm-chair, with her little slippered feet on the brass fender, and her soft hair pressed against the velvet cushions. Her white hands were clasped loosely in her lap; small, helpless looking hands, little fitted to cope with the burdens and responsibilities laid upon her. The judge had never even permitted her to open a door for herself when he had been near enough to do it for her. But his love had made him short-sighted. In shielding her so carefully, he did not see that he was only making her more keenly sensitive to later troubles that must come when he was no longer with her. Every one was surprised at the course she determined upon. "I supposed, of course," said Mrs. Marion, "that you would try to teach drawing or watercolors, or something. You have spent so much time on your art studies, and so thoroughly enjoy that kind of work. Then those little dinner-cards, and german favors you do, are so beautiful. I am sure you have any number of friends who would be glad to give you orders." "No, Cousin Ray," answered Bethany decidedly; "I must have something that brings in a settled income, something that can be depended on. While I have painted some very acceptable things, I never was cut out for a teacher. I'd rather not attempt anything in which I can never be more than third-rate. I've decided to study stenography. I am sure I can master that, and command a first-class position. I have heard papa complain a great many times of the difficulty in obtaining a really good stenographer. Of the hundreds who attempt the work, such a small per cent are really proficient enough to undertake court reporting." "You're just like your father," said Mrs. Marion. "Uncle Richard would never be anything if he couldn't be uppermost." It had been nearly a year since that conversation. Bethany had persevered in her undertaking until she felt confident that she had accomplished her purpose. She was ready for any position that offered, but there seemed to be no vacancies anywhere. The little sum in the bank was dwindling away with frightful rapidity. She was afraid to encroach on it any further, but the bills had to be met constantly. Presently she drew her chair over to the library table, and spread out her check-book and memoranda under the student-lamp, to look over the accounts for the month just ended. Then she made a list of the probable expenses of the next two months. The contrast between their needs and their means was appalling. "It will take every cent!" she exclaimed, in a distressed whisper. "When the first of September comes, there will be nothing left but to sell the old home and go away somewhere to a strange place."