'I like to look at them all,' was the answer.

They both sat silent awhile; there was something in the stillness that forbade Wilmet even to feel in her pocket for her tatting; but at last Felix surprised her by saying:

'I have been thinking about Jacob.'

'Jacob Lightfoot?'

'No, Israel. I think I enter a little into his surprise and gratitude. I look back—don't you, Wilmet?—to a shivering sense of loneliness and responsibility when we first realized the task before us.'

'I don't think I ever did,' said Wilmet; 'I never thought of mamma's not getting well, till I had grown quite used to it. It never occurred to me that our position was unusual till I heard people talking of it.'

'So much the better; but I recollect one cold winter day, soon after my father's death, reading Jacob's vow at Bethel to devote his best, if God would only give him bread to eat and raiment to wear, and longing for some assurance that we should have it—I felt so helpless, and the future so vague—and when I see how richly blessings and prosperity have flowed in on us, and look at those fine, happy, strong creatures, it seems to me like his return across the Jordan, or as if I could say, as he did at last, "The God that led me all my life through, the Angel that redeemed me from all evil, bless the lads."' And as the firelight shone upon his face, Wilmet recollected another saying about Jacob, and how the 'Angels of God met him,' but her answer sounded flat. 'Yes, it is a great comfort to see so many launched and doing well.'

'And, Wilmet, how much was owing to you! If you had not been the girl you were, we must have broken up; it could not have been done at all. Do you remember our councils over that spotted account book on Saturday nights, and our misery when Fulbert spoilt a new pair of boots in the river?'

'And your new coats! They used to weigh on my mind for months. I used to look at your elbows every evening, and reckon whether they would hold out till I had saved enough for the next.'

'Ah!' added Felix, laughing a little, 'do you remember my worst offence of all? No? My having my hair cut at Slater's—instead of letting you do it. I believe you had designs on the shilling, and that you thought me corrupted by the vanities of this world!'