“No, Gusty, I had rather be extravagant with my own funds than with yours. I wish you to accumulate property, Gusty—that is to say only _this_—spend as little of your limited income as possible, lay by the balance until you get enough to purchase a piece of land and build a house. I do think that every young man should do that—I mean every young man with a fixed salary—of course men engaged in commerce may use their money to better advantage by investing it in trade. But, oh, Gusty, I do wish to see you have a house of your own so much; a home that you can improve and beautify to your own taste; and I do wish to see your Rosalia presiding over it. Come and kiss me, dear Gusty! dear fellow, don’t you think that I sympathize with your hopes?” Gusty laughingly sprang to his mother, and catching her around the neck, kissed her uproariously, saying— “_Ah, mais, maman maligne_, you will not make a feast for Rose, this evening!” “Oh! but, Gusty, see here! we have been making feasts every evening for a week past, and she has not come to eat them—and may not come this evening—and, Gusty, besides, if I take this little bride of yours here, and wish to keep her for four or five years, to save some hundred dollars of your salary annually, I must not make her too expensive to Buncombe. Dear Buncombe, he is so wise! so good! and so unobtrusive in his wisdom and goodness—I have already too much overlooked his interests and comfort in my economies and sacrifices for you and Rosalia—I must”— Up sprang Gusty, exclaiming— “If I thought that, mother, my honor”— “Is _safe_ in your mother’s keeping, Gusty, believe that.” “But, mother!” “Come, Gusty, nonsense—no high points of honor with the woman that brought you into the world, or with her husband either—Buncombe suffers many privations that you know nothing of, and could not sympathize with, if you did know—he wants certain books, scientific and mathematical instruments, &c., that he can never purchase, because he spills his money all over the parish; lavishing his slender means upon the poor, instead of influencing the rich to relieve them from their ample store—for Buncombe can give, but he cannot beg, even for others—that requires a high moral heroism in a sensitive heart like his. I have had to pick his pockets before he goes out, every day, else they would come home empty. He never economizes; never thinks of expense—not he—and when Rosalia is seated by our fireside, he will never think whether she costs us a hundred cents or a hundred dollars a year—the blessed soul!—nonsense, Gusty,” said she, with tears in her eyes, “you will break my heart if you get upon your dignity with Buncombe.”