“I believe Mrs. Ross is at the bottom of it, after all,” said Mrs. Gilbert. “No, mother; there you are wrong,” and Harry went on to explain that Howard’s appearance was a surprise to his uncle. “What kind of a boy is he?” asked the widow, disposed to dislike in advance the boy who had been the means of depriving her son of a place. “He’s a nice fellow. I like him already. Of course I am sorry to lose my place, but, if I must, I am willing he should have it. I think we shall be good friends.” “But what are you going to do, Harry?” asked his mother, anxiously. “Your wages have been our dependence.” “I am sure I shall get something else to do, mother,” said Harry, in a tone of confidence which he did not feel. “Tending store isn’t the only thing to be done.” “I am sure, I hope so,” said Mrs. Gilbert, despondently. “Don’t trouble yourself, mother, about the future. Just leave it to me, and you’ll see if I don’t get something to do.” Nevertheless, the widow could not help troubling herself. She knew that employment was hard to find in the village, at any rate and could not conjecture where Harry was to find it. She did not, however, say much on the subject, fearing to depress his spirits. Saturday night came, and Harry received his wages. “I don’t know where my next week’s wages are coming from, Mr. Mead,” he said, soberly. “You may be sure that I will recommend you for any employment I hear of, Harry,” said Mr. Mead, earnestly. “I really wish I could afford to keep you on. You mustn’t allow yourself to be discouraged.” “I won’t—if I can help it,” answered Harry. The next day was Sunday, and he did not realize that he was out of a position; but, when Monday morning came, and he could lie abed as long as he pleased, with no call to work, he felt sad. After a light breakfast, he rose from the table and took his hat. “Where are you going, Harry?” asked his mother. “I am going out in search of a job, mother,” he replied. The number of stores was limited, and he was pretty sure in advance that there was no opening in any one of them, but he wanted to make sure. He applied at one after another, and without success. “I’d take you quick enough, Harry,” said Mr. Draper, the dry-goods dealer, “but I’ve got all the help I need.” “So I expected, Mr. Draper, but I thought I would ask.” “All right, Harry. If I hear of anything, I will be sure to let you know,” said Mr. Draper, in a friendly tone. All this evidence of friendliness was, of course, pleasant, but the prospect of a place would have been more welcome, so poor Harry thought. At ten o’clock he reached home. His mother looked up when he entered, but she saw, by the expression of his face, that he had not succeeded. “You must be tired, Harry,” she said. “You had better sit down and rest.” “Oh, no, I’m not tired, mother. If you’ll tell me where the four-quart kettle is, I’ll go and pick some blueberries.” “What will you do with so many, Harry?”