then his conscience smote him, he felt shamefaced before his deacons, but Evelina kept her first claim. He resolved that another year he would hire a piece of land, and combine farming with his ministerial work, and so try to eke out his salary, and get a little more money to beautify his poor home for his bride. Now if Evelina Adams had come to the appointed time for the closing of her solitary life, and if her young cousin should inherit a share of her goodly property and the fine old mansion-house, all necessity for anxiety of this kind was over. Young Evelina would not need to be taken away, for the sake of her love, from all these comforts and luxuries. Thomas Merriam rejoiced innocently, without a thought for himself. In the course of the winter he confided in his father; he couldn’t keep it to himself any longer. Then there was another reason. Seeing Evelina so little made him at times almost doubt the reality of it all. There were days when he was depressed, and inclined to ask himself if he had not dreamed it. Telling somebody gave it substance. His father listened soberly when he told him; he had grown old of late. “Well,” said he, “she ’ain’t been used to living the way you have, though you have had advantages that none of your folks ever had; but if she likes you, that’s all there is to it, I s’pose.” The old man sighed wearily. He sat in his arm-chair at the kitchen fireplace; his wife had gone in to one of the neighbors, and the two were alone. “Of course,” said Thomas, simply, “if Evelina Adams shouldn’t live, the chances are that I shouldn’t have to bring her here. She wouldn’t have to give up anything on my account--you know that, father.” Then the young man started, for his father turned suddenly on him with a pale, wrathful face. “You ain’t countin’ on that!” he shouted. “You ain’t countin’ on that--a son of mine countin’ on anything like that!” Thomas colored. “Why, father,” he stammered, “you don’t think--you know, it’s all for _her_--and they say she can’t live anyway. I had never thought of such a thing before. I was wondering how I could make it comfortable for Evelina here.” But his father did not seem to listen. “Countin’ on that!” he repeated. “Countin’ on a poor old soul, that ’ain’t ever had anything to set her heart on but a few posies, dyin’ to make room for other folks to have what she’s been cheated out on. Countin’ on that!” The old man’s voice broke into a hoarse sob; he got up, and went hurriedly out of the room. “Why, father!” his son called after him, in alarm. He got up to follow him, but his father waved him back and shut the door hard. “Father must be getting childish,” Thomas thought, wonderingly. He did not bring up the subject to him again.