"Some things can never be made right, mother; but let us not talk of that now. I want you to get better fast, and think of all the good times we shall have when we get a little home of our own once more." "Your father will not be there," she answered sadly; "and I want to be with him." "But you should think of us also, mother," he said, with a shake in his voice. "I do--I do," she answered feebly and listlessly. "I have thought of you night and day, and have never ceased to pray for you since I came here. But you can do without me now." "No, no. Don't say that!" he pleaded. "I should have feared to leave you once," she answered; "but not now." "Why not now?" he questioned. "Ah, Ralph, my boy"--and she smoothed the back of his hand slowly and gently--"you will never forget your father and the good name he bore. That name is your inheritance. It is better than money--better than houses and lands. He was one of the good men of the world--not great, nor successful, nor even wise, as the world counts wisdom. But no shadow of wrong, Ralph, ever stained his life. He walked with God. You will think of this, my son, in the days that are to come. And if ever you should be tempted to sin, the memory of your father will be like an anchor to you. You will say to yourself, 'He bore unstained for nearly sixty years the white flag of a blameless life, and I dare not lower it now into the dust.'" "God help me, mother!" he choked. "God will help you, my boy. As He stood by your father and has comforted me, so will He be your strength and defence. You and Ruth will fight all the better for not having the burden of my presence." "Mother, mother, how can you say so?" Ruth interposed, with streaming eyes. "I may be permitted to watch you from the hills of that Better Country," she went on, "I and your father. But in any case, God will watch over you." This was her benediction. They went away at length, sadly and silently, but not till they reached the outer air did either of them speak. It was Ruth who broke the silence. "She will never get better, Ralph." "Oh, nonsense, sis. She is overcome to-day, but she will pick up again to-morrow." "She has been gradually failing ever since we left Hillside, and she has never recovered any ground she lost." "But the spring is coming, and once we have got her out of that dismal and depressing place, her strength will come back." But Ruth shook her head. "I don't want to discourage you," she said, "but I have watched the gradual loosening of her hold upon life. Her heart is in heaven, Ralph, that is the secret of it. She is longing to be with father again." They walked on in silence till they reached Mr. Varcoe's house, then Ralph spoke again. "We must get mother out of the workhouse, and at once, whatever happens," he said. "How?" she asked. "I don't know yet. But think of it, if she should die in the workhouse." "She has lived in it," Ruth answered.