"So soon, Edward? Must it really be? How can I bear it? And he is so good—and well advanced too; might it not be deferred for another year?"
But the answer came in a firm, manly tone, yet gentle withal: "No, Charlotte, it cannot be put off. James is now eight years old: and though I grant he is obedient to you, still he is under no control to any one else; and, as his uncle and guardian, I must advise, nay, urge his being sent away from home, and allowed to mix with other boys. Think of the property and the riches to which he is heir; and remember, dear sister, what a responsibility will fall on him. With the control of so many and so much, he doubly needs to learn to control himself. I know what a trial it will be to both of you; but in the end, it will be best. The school I have selected is a good one; the master kind, though strict; and his wife a ladylike, motherly person. Be brave, Charlotte, and let him go. You know—" and here he stooped over the sofa, and kissed his sister's brow—"that the 'Father of the fatherless' will not forsake your child."
She looked up—a true woman, with a mother's unselfish heart shining out in her eyes through the tears: "So be it, then, Edward; he shall go, and I will trust and pray."
Just then the door opened, and the beautiful boy bounded in.
"Oh, Uncle Edward, are you the gentleman who wished to see me, and brought me away from such a game of fun with Snap?"
Then, shaking hands with him, he ran to his mother, and stood beside her.
"But, mother dear, it was because Walter said you wished me, that I have come. What is it, mother?"
The question was asked in a troubled tone, for his quick eye had detected the tears that still glistened on the dark lashes.
"What is wrong, mother darling?" And, the boyish wildness all laid aside, he bent, with a gentle look, over her.
"Uncle Edward and I have been talking about you," was the reply, as she gently put back the brown curls off his large open forehead.