"It didn’t matter; but I’m afraid I’ll be a great burden to you," I answered, remembering what I had thought in regard to this. "Nonsense! Only I’m not sure but you would be better with your Aunt Jane than with me; but your mother would approve what I am doing if she were alive, and that is what governs me," he answered. "I’m sure she would," I replied, feeling that he spoke the truth. "Then you are pleased?" he asked, smiling, as if comforted by my answer. "Yes, but I fear Aunt Jane will be very unhappy when she finds I have gone without money or clothing. Wouldn’t it be right to send her word that no harm will come to me?" I asked, a feeling of remorse coming over me that I had shown her so little respect. "She will not fret nor lose an hour’s sleep over you, my boy," Uncle Job replied. "Her heart will close up like an oyster when she finds you are gone; but when we are well out of the country we will let her know. She will never forgive you, but it doesn’t matter, for she was never friendly to our family, anyway." "Mother used to say we didn’t understand her," I answered, remembering her words. "Your mother found excuses for every one, so tender was her heart; and your Aunt Jane is not to be blamed if she is ice instead of flesh and blood," he replied. "Please, Job, leave Aunt Jane in the quietude of her farm for a while. The die is cast, and nothing can change it now," Mr. Seymour broke in, good-naturedly. "Come, Constance, let us have dinner served here, where we can have the evening to ourselves—and make haste, for we are starving," he added, putting his arm about her as she turned to leave the room.