The boys looked into each other’s faces, and saw dimly though unbidden tears, of which the elder was instantly ashamed. “Why, Joseph, this is children’s play. We came here to talk like men, not whimper like babies. Wipe up—wipe up! that’s a brave little fellow, and let us go to business at once.” “Well, I’m ready,” answered Joseph, wiping his eyes. “What shall we say next?” “Joseph, these two lovely women—for they are lovely, we both agree on that—have got to live. All hopes from our brave father is dead and gone.” “I know it! Oh! I know it!” “Don’t cry, Joseph—that is, if you can possibly help it; but listen. You and I must support the family.” “You and I? Oh, Robert! think what a little shaver I am!” “Yet, I’ve thought of that over and over again; but in this world there is something that every one can do. Think how soon little chickens begin to scratch up worms for themselves.” “Yes, Robert; but then the worms are about, and they know where to find ’em.” “So is money about, and we must learn how to find it.” “But what can I do? Studying double lessons won’t bring money, or I’d get them every night of my life.” “No,” said Robert; “we can have no more school.” “No more school?” “Both of us must go to work in earnest.” “I will be in earnest—but how?” “Joseph Burns, I’m going to make a newsboy of you.” “A newsboy of me?” Joseph was absolutely frightened, his eyes grew large, his lips trembled. “Of me?” “Yes, little brother. It must be a splendid business. I saw one of those chaps with a whole jacket full of money; besides, it’s a healthy occupation, and leads into a literary way of life.” “I—I would try it, Robert, if I only knew how to begin,” faltered the gentle child, with tears in his eyes. “Begin! Why you’d learn in no time.” “Would I?” “Of course; why not?—and bring home your fifty cents a day, clear profit, in less than no time.” “I—I’ll try, of course. I’ll do my best.” “Why, how you shake! Do keep that poor little mouth still. Nobody’s going to hurt you, Joseph, dear.” “But—but have I got voice enough?” “Voice! You little trooper, I should think you had. Can’t you yell, oh! no?” Joseph laughed through his tears. “I’d like to do it.” “Well, that’s settled. As for the schooling, grandma is a lady, and could teach, if they ever let old ladies do that. Why, she’s grand in figures, and writes beautifully. You shall study with her night and morning—so will I. Work shall not cheat us out of our education, you know.” Joseph began to brighten up considerably after this suggestion. He had his dreams, poor boy, and loved books with a passionate longing. The very idea that boys sold a species of literature, went far to reconcile him with their noisy pursuit. “Yes,” he said, cheerfully, “that would be almost like school.”