It was the remembrance of these heavy demands upon the family purse which now caused the young people to look at one another with startled questioning. Lansing was about to begin his senior year at a great university; Celia had finished her first year at a famous women's college. Within a fortnight both were expecting to begin work. Charlotte did not care about a college course, but she had planned for two years to go to a school of design, for she was a promising young worker in things decorative. As for Jefferson, sixteen years old, captain of the high-school football team, six feet tall, and able to give his brother Lansing a hard battle for physical supremacy, his dearest dream was a great military school. Even Justin--but Justin was only twelve--his dreams could wait. His was the only face in the group which remained placid during the moments succeeding Mr. Birch's mention of the astonishing fact about the income. The father's observant eyes noted all that his children's looks could tell him of surprise, disappointment and bewilderment; and of the succeeding effort they made to rally their forces and show no sign of dismay. Lansing made the first effort. "I can drop back a year," he said, thoughtfully. "Or I--no--merely working my way through this year wouldn't do. It wouldn't help out at home." "Why, Lanse!" began Celia, and stopped. He glanced meaningly at her, and the colour flashed back into her cheeks. In the next instant she had followed his lead. "If Lanse can stay out of college, I can, too," she said, with decision. "If I could get some fairly good position," Lanse proposed, "I ought to be able to earn enough to--well, we're rather a large family, and our appetites----" "I could do something," began Charlotte, eagerly. "I could--I could do sewing----" At that there was a general howl, which quite broke the solemnity of the occasion. "Charlotte--sewing!" they cried. "Why not take in washing?" urged Lanse. "Or solicit orders for fancy cooking?" "Or tutor stupid little boys in languages? Come! Fiddle--stick to your specialty." Charlotte's face was a study as she received these hints. They represented the things she disliked most and could do least well. Yet they were hardly farther afield than her own suggestion of sewing. Charlotte's inability with the needle was proverbial. "What position do you consider yourself eminently fitted for, Mr. Lansing Birch?" she inquired, with uplifted chin. "You have me there," her brother returned, good-humouredly. "There's only one thing I can think of--to go into the locomotive shops. Mechanics' wages are better than most, and a little practical experience wouldn't hurt me."