"Worse!" he echoed in surprise. "How could it be worse? Mamma, I am no better than an errand-boy there." "It would be worse, William, if you were one of those poor black boys. Unenlightened; no wish for higher things; content to remain as they are for ever." "But that could never be," he urged. "To be content with such a life is impossible." "They are content, William." He saw the drift of the argument. "Yes, mamma," he acknowledged; "I did not reflect. It would be worse if I were quite as they are." "William, we can only bear our difficulties, and make the best of them, trusting to surmount them in the end. You and I must both do this. Trust is different from hope. If we only hope, we may lose courage; but if we fully and freely _trust_, we cannot. Patience and perseverance, endurance and trust, they will in the end triumph; never fear. If I feared, William, I should go into the grave with despair. I never lose my trust. I never lose my conviction, firm and certain, that God is watching over me, that He is permitting these trials for some wise purpose, and that in His own good time we shall be brought through them." William's sobs were growing lighter. "The time may come when we shall be at ease again," continued Jane; "when we shall look back on this time of trial, and be thankful that we did bear up and surmount it, instead of fainting under the burden. God will take care that the battle is not too hot for us, if we only resign ourselves, in all trust, to do the best. The future is grievously dim and indistinct. As the guiding light in your father's dream shone only on one step at a time, so can I see only one step before me." "What step is that?" he asked somewhat eagerly. "The one obvious step before me is to persevere, as I am now doing, to try and retain this home for you, my children; to work as I can, so as to keep you around me. I must strive to keep you together, and you must help me. Bear up bravely, William. Make the best of this unpleasant employment and its mortifications, and strive to overcome your repugnance to it. Be resolute, my boy, in doing your duty in it, because it is your duty, and because, William--because it is helping your mother." A shadow of the trust, so firm in his mother's heart, began to dawn in his. "Yes, it is my duty," he resolutely said. "I will try to do it--to hope and trust." Jane strained him to her. "Were you and I to give way now, darling, our past troubles would have been borne for nothing. Let us, I repeat, look forward to the time when we may say, 'We did not faint; we battled on, and overcame.' It _will_ come, William. Only trust to God." She quitted him, leaving him to reflection and resolve scarcely befitting his young years. The week wore on to its close. On the Saturday night, William, his face flushed, held out four shillings to his mother. "My week's wages, mamma." Jane's face flushed also. "It is more than I expected, William," she said. "I fancied you would have three."