Of course Harry would have felt it intolerable to come home just like his neighbors. So he returned to the Hatton district as if he had condescended to accept some pressing invitation to do so. It was, however, almost the last exhibition of his overweening youthful egotism. His mother's best carriage was at the station for Mrs. Henry Hatton and family; his mother's gigs and wagons there for his servants and baggage. Two or three of the village societies to which he had belonged or did yet belong crowded the railway platform. They cheered him when he alighted, and sent him homeward to the music of,
There may be fairer lands beyond the sea,
But it's Home! It's Home in the North Country!
Harry's mother was delighted. This public approbation justified her own rather extravagant wel
come, and when John's face showed a shadow of disapproval, she was not pleased.
"It is too much especially at this time, mother. It is more than Harry can or will live up to. Trust me, mother, for I know the men. This noisy welcome was not so much a mark of their friendship and admiration as it was a bid for Harry's help and patronage, and when Harry gets weary of giving and doing or becomes unable to give or do, they will feel wronged and offended and perhaps express their dissatisfaction just as pointedly."
"He is thy own brother, and I wouldn't be jealous of his popularity if I was thee."
"Jealous! Mother! How can you accuse me of such a feeling?" He could say no more for he was deeply pained at the charge.
"Well, John, I was wrong to say 'jealous.' I said it because it was the ugliest word I could think of at the moment."
"If you thought I was jealous, you were right to tell me so."
"Nay, my lad, I didn't think so—not for a moment—so I was wrong. Well, then, we all say the wrong word sometimes."