"I am very glad to get such an offer," said Albert.

"Shall you take the money?" said his wife.

"I don't know," replied Albert. "I rather think not."

"Then why are you glad to get the offer?" asked Mary Erskine.

"Oh, it shows that my credit is good in the village. It must be very good, indeed, to lead such a man as Mr. Keep to offer to lend me money, of his own accord. It is a considerable comfort to know that I can get money, whenever I want it, even if I never take it."

"Yes," said Mary Erskine, "so it is."

"And it is all owing to you," said Albert.

"To me?" said Mary Erskine.

"Yes," said he; "to your prudence and economy, and to your contented and happy disposition. That is one thing that I always liked you for. It is so easy to make you happy. There is many a wife, in your situation, who could not have been happy unless their husband would build them a handsome house and fill it with handsome furniture--even if he had to go in debt for his land to pay for it."

Mary Erskine did not reply, though it gratified her very much to hear her husband commend her.

"Well," said she at length, "I am very glad that you have got good credit. What should you do with the money, if you borrowed it?"

"Why, one thing that I could do," said Albert, "would be to build a new house."

"No," said Mary Erskine, "I like this house very much. I don't want any other--certainly not until we can build one with our own money."

"Then," said Albert, "I can buy more stock, and perhaps hire some help, and get more land cleared this fall, so as to have greater crops next spring, and then sell the stock when it has grown and increased, and also the crops, and so get money enough to pay back the debt and have something over."

"Should you have much over?" asked Mary.

"Why that would depend upon how my business turned out,--and that would depend upon the weather, and the markets, and other things which we can not now foresee. I think it probable that we should have a good deal over."

"Well," said Mary Erskine, "then I would take the money."

"But, then, on the other hand," said Albert, "I should run some risk of embarra.s.sing myself, if things did not turn out well. If I were to be sick, so that I could not attend to so much business, or if I should Jose any of my stock, or if the crops should not do well, then I might not get enough to pay back the debt."

"And what should you do then?" asked Mary Erskine.

"Why then," replied Albert, "I should have to make up the deficiency in some other way. I might ask Mr. Keep to put off the payment of the note, or I might borrow the money of somebody else to pay him, or I might sell some of my other stock. I could do any of these things well enough, but it would perhaps cause me some trouble and anxiety."

"Then I would not take the money," said Mary Erskine. "I don't like anxiety. I can bear any thing else better than anxiety."

"However, I don't know any thing about it," continued Mary Erskine, after a short pause. "You can judge best."

They conversed on the subject some time longer, Albert being quite at a loss to know what it was best to do. Mary Erskine, for her part, seemed perfectly willing that he should borrow the money to buy more stock, as she liked the idea of having more oxen, sheep, and cows. But she seemed decidedly opposed to using borrowed money to build a new house, or to buy new furniture. Her head would ache, she said, to lie on a pillow of feathers that was not paid for.

Albert finally concluded not to borrow the money, and so Mr. Keep lent it to Mr. Gordon.

Things went on in this way for about three or four years, and then Albert began to think seriously of building another house. He had now money enough of his own to build it with. His stock had become so large that he had not sufficient barn room for his hay, and he did not wish to build larger barns where he then lived, for in the course of his clearings he had found a much better place for a house than the one which they had at first selected. Then his house was beginning to be too small for his family, for Mary Erskine had, now, two children.

One was an infant, and the other was about two years old. These children slept in a trundle-bed, which was pushed under the great bed in the daytime, but still the room became rather crowded. So Albert determined to build another house.

Mary Erskine was very much interested in this plan. She would like to live in a handsome house as well as any other lady, only she preferred to wait until she could have one of her own. Now that that time had arrived, she was greatly pleased with the prospect of having her kitchen, her sitting-room, and her bed-room, in three separate rooms, instead of having them, as heretofore, all in one. Then the barns and barn-yards, and the pens and sheds for the sheep and cattle, were all going to be much more convenient than they had been; so that Albert could take care of a greater amount of stock than before, with the same labor. The new house, too, was going to be built in a much more pleasant situation than the old one, and the road from it to the corner was to be improved, so that they could go in and out with a wagon. In a word, Mary Erskine's heart was filled with new hopes and antic.i.p.ations, as she saw before her means and sources of happiness, higher and more extended than she had ever before enjoyed.

When the time approached for moving into the new house Mary Erskine occupied herself, whenever she had any leisure time, in packing up such articles as were not in use. One afternoon while she was engaged in this occupation, Albert came home from the field much earlier than usual. Mary Erskine was very glad to see him, as she wished him to nail up the box in which she had been packing her cups and saucers.

She was at work on the stoop, very near the door, so that she could watch the children. The baby was in the cradle. The other child, whose name was Bella, was playing about the floor.

Albert stopped a moment to look at Mary Erskine's packing, and then went in and took his seat upon the settle.

"Tell me when your box is ready," said he, "and I will come and nail it for you."

Bella walked along toward her father--for she had just learned to walk--and attempted to climb up into his lap.

"Run away, Bella," said Albert.

Mary Erskine was surprised to hear Albert tell Bella to run away, for he was usually very glad to have his daughter come to him when he got home from his work. She looked up to see what was the matter. He was sitting upon the settle, and leaning his head upon his hand.

Mary Erskine left her work and went to him.

"Are you not well, Albert?" said she.

"My head aches a little. It ached in the field, and that was the reason why I thought I would come home. But it is better now. Are you ready for me to come and nail the box?"

"No," said Mary, "not quite; and besides, it is no matter about it to-night. I will get you some tea."

"No," said Albert, "finish your packing first, and I will come and nail it. Then we can put it out of the way."

Mary Erskine accordingly finished her packing, and Albert went to it, to nail the cover on. He drove one or two nails, and then he put the hammer down, and sat down himself upon the box, saying that he could not finish the nailing after all. He was too unwell. He went into the room, Mary Erskine leading and supporting him. She conducted him to the bed and opened the curtains so as to let him lie down. She helped him to undress himself, and then left him, a few minutes while she began to get some tea. She moved the box, which she had been packing, away from the stoop door, and put it in a corner. She drew out the trundle-bed, and made, it ready for Bella. She sat down and gave Bella some supper, and then put her into the trundle-bed, directing her to shut up her eyes and go to sleep. Bella obeyed.

Mary Erskine then went to the fire and made some tea and toast for Albert, doing every thing in as quiet and noiseless a manner as possible. When the tea and toast were ready she put them upon a small waiter, and then moving her little work-table up to the side of the bed, she put the waiter upon it. When every thing was thus ready, she opened the curtains. Albert was asleep.

He seemed however to be uneasy and restless, and he moaned now and then as if in pain. Mary Erskine stood leaning over him for some time, with a countenance filled with anxiety and concern. She then turned away, saying to herself, "If Albert is going to be sick and to die, what _will_ become of me?" She kneeled down upon the floor at the foot of the bed, crossed her arms before her, laid them down very quietly upon the counterpane, and reclined her forehead upon them. She remained in that position for some time without speaking a word.

Presently she rose and took the tea and toast upon the waiter, and set them down by the fire in order to keep them warm. She next went to look at the children, to see if they were properly covered. Then she opened the bed-curtains a little way in order that she might see Albert in case he should wake or move, and having adjusted them as she wished, she went to the stoop door and took her seat there, with her knitting-work in her hand, in a position from which, on one side she could look into the room and observe every thing which took place there, and on the other side, watch the road and see if any one went by. She thought it probable that some of the workmen, who had been employed at the new house, might be going home about that time, and she wished to send into the village by them to ask Dr. Keep to come.

Mary Erskine succeeded in her design of sending into the village by one of the workmen, and Dr. Keep came about nine o'clock He prescribed for Albert, and prepared, and left, some medicine for him. He said he hoped that he was not going to be very sick, but he could tell better in the morning when he would come again.

"But you ought not to be here alone," said he to Mary Erskine. "You ought to have some one with you."

"No," said Mary Erskine, "I can get along very well, alone, to-night,--and I think he will be better in the morning."

Stories of sickness and suffering are painful to read, as the reality is painful to witness. We will therefore shorten the tale of Mary Erskine's anxiety and distress, by saying, at once that Albert grew worse instead of better, every day for a fortnight, and then died.

During his sickness Mrs. Bell spent a great deal of time at Mary Erskine's house, and other persons, from the village, came every day to watch with Albert, and to help take care of the children. There was a young man also, named Thomas, whom Mary Erskine employed to come and stay there all day, to take the necessary care of the cattle and of the farm. They made a bed for Thomas in the scaffold in the barn. They also made up a bed in the stoop, in a corner which they divided off by means of a curtain. This bed was for the watchers, and for Mary Erskine herself, when she or they wished to lie down. Mary Erskine went to it, herself very seldom. She remained at her husband's bedside almost all the time, day and night. Albert suffered very little pain, and seemed to sleep most of the time. He revived a little the afternoon before he died, and appeared as if he were going to be better. He looked up into Mary Erskine's face and smiled. It was plain, however, that he was very feeble.

There was n.o.body but Mrs. Bell in the house, at that time, besides Mary Erskine and the baby. Bella had gone to Mrs. Bell's house, and Mary Bell was taking care of her. Albert beckoned his wife to come to him, and said to her, in a faint and feeble voice, that he wished Mrs.

Bell to write something for him. Mary Erskine immediately brought her work-table up to the bedside, opened the drawer, took out one of the sheets of paper and a pen, opened the inkstand, and thus made every thing ready for writing. Mrs. Bell took her seat by the table in such a manner that her head was near to Albert's as it lay upon the pillow.

"I am ready now," said Mrs. Bell.