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"Can THEE do it, Sylvia?" her father would ask.
"I believe I have done it already," she said. "If it seems
difficult, pray consider how much later I begin my work. I have
had all your memories in charge, and now I must not only forget for
myself, but for you as well."
Indeed, as the spring and summer months came and went, Sylvia
evidently grew stronger in her determination. The fret of her idle
force was allayed, and her content increased as she saw and
performed the possible duties of her life. Perhaps her father
might have caught something of her spirit, but for his anxiety in
regard to the suspended correspondence. He wearied himself in
guesses, which all ended in the simple fact that, to escape
embarrassment, the rent must again be saved from the earnings of
the farm.
The harvests that year were bountiful; wheat, barley, and oats
stood thick and heavy in the fields. No one showed more careful
thrift or more cheerful industry than young Joel Bradbury, and the
family felt that much of the fortune of their harvest was owing to
him.


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