"Several months, if I go. The matter is not decided by any means. I do not see how I can leave you," answered Mr. Morrison.
"You must go, Jack; it will be the very thing for you. It isn't only the money, dear, or even the opportunity for getting on in your work, but you need a change, for you haven't been yourself lately. Frances and I will stay here and be very comfortable, and when you come home we'll have a jubilee."
"And not go back to Chicago?" Frances asked.
"The winters there are too cold for you. No, I think we'd better stay here, but not in this house," said her mother.
"It will be difficult to find the kind of place I shall be willing to leave you in," replied Mr. Morrison. "What is it you are always singing, Frances?" he added, for as she turned the leaves of a magazine she was humming softly to herself.
"I don't know," she answered laughing, then—"Why, yes, I do—it is the song of the Spectacle Man,
| "'The bridge is broke, and I have to mend it,' |
"that is all I know of it. He was telling me about it when you came for me. I wish I could go to see him again."