Mrs. Barclay read the letter carefully.

“Can I go, mother?” Ben asked anxiously.

“It will be a sacrifice for me to part with you,” returned his mother slowly; “but I agree with you that it is a rare chance, and I should be doing wrong to stand in the way of your good fortune.  Mrs. Hamilton must have formed a very good opinion of you.”

“She may be disappointed in me,” said Ben modestly.

“I don’t think she will,” said Mrs. Barclay, with a proud and affectionate glance at her boy.  “You have always been a good son, and that is the best of recommendations.”

“I am afraid you are too partial, mother.  I shall hate to leave you alone.”

“I can bear loneliness if I know you are prospering, Ben.”

“And it will only be for a time, mother.  When I am a young man and earning a good income, I shall want you to come and live with me.”

“All in good time, Ben.  How soon do you want to go?”

“I think it better to lose no time, mother.  You know I have no work to keep me in Pentonville.”

“But it will take two or three days to get your clothes ready.”

“You can send them to me by express.  I shall send you the address.”

Mrs. Barclay was a fond mother, but she was also a sensible woman.  She felt that Ben was right, and, though it seemed very sudden, she gave him her permission to start the next morning.  Had she objected strenuously, Ben would have given up his plan, much as he desired it, for he felt that his mother had the strongest claims upon him, and he would not have been willing to run counter to her wishes.

“Where are you going, Ben?” asked his mother, as Ben put on his hat and moved toward the door.

“I thought I would like to call on Rose Gardiner to say good-by,” answered Ben.

“Quite right, my son.  Rose is a good friend of yours, and an excellent girl”

“I say ditto to that, mother,” Ben answered warmly.

I am not going to represent Ben as being in love—­he was too young for that—­but, like many boys of his age, he felt a special attraction in the society of one young girl.  His good taste was certainly not at fault in his choice of Rose Gardiner, who, far from being frivolous and fashionable, was a girl of sterling traits, who was not above making herself useful in the household of which she formed a part.

On his way to the home of Rose Gardiner, Ben met Tom Davenport.

“How are you getting along?” asked Tom, not out of interest, but curiosity.

“Very well, thank you.”

“Have you got through helping the farmer?”

“Yes.”

“It was a very long job.  Have you thought better of coming to saw wood for father?”

“No; I have thought worse of it,” answered Ben, smiling.

“You are too proud.  Poor and proud don’t agree.”

“Not at all.  I would have had no objection to the work.  It was the pay I didn’t like.”