When he reached home he strode into the house and sat down without saying a word. "Has Uncle Tom turned you off?" asked Barbara, faltering a little and putting down her knitting. She had been dreading this end of all her hopes. "Yes," said Tom; "and I wish to the Lord I was dead and done for." And he leaned his head on his left hand. "Oh, my poor boy!" began Mrs. Grayson, "and you didn't mean no harm neither. And you're the only boy I've got, too. All the rest dead and gone. They's no end of troubles in this world!" Tom's shoulders were heaving with feeling. After a moment or two of silence, Barbara went over and put her hand on him. "Pshaw, Tom! what's the use of giving up? You're a splendid fellow in spite of all, and you'll make your way yet. You only needed a settler, and now you've got it. It won't look so bad by next week. You'll take a school next winter, and after that go back to study law again." Then she quietly went to the clothes-press by the chimney and got out a hank of yarn, and said to Tom: "Here, hold this while I wind it. I was just wishing you were here when I saw my ball giving out. That's like you used to do for me. Don't you remember? Mother, get Tom something to eat; he's tired and hungry, I expect." And choking down the disappointment which involved more than Tom suspected, the keen, black-eyed girl wound her yarn and made an effort to chat with Tom as though he had come home on a visit. As the last strands were wound on the ball, Tom looked at his sister and said: "Barbara, you're one of a thousand. But I know this thing's thundering hard on you. I'm going to try to make it up to you from this time. I wish to goodness I had half of your steady sense." VIII BARBARA'S PRIVATE AFFAIRS