for the early settlers. The shed where in those days Simon Horton had shod their horses and oxen, had grown in the course of years into the Gershom axefactory, which bade fair to make a rich man of his daughter's son.

But the slow and sure process which had served their fathers in their advances towards wealth were not likely to content the men of Gershom now, and there had been much talk among them about the forming of a company, to be called "The Gershom Manufacturing Company," the object of which was to be the establishment of new industries in the town.

Meetings were held, and speeches were made. The enterprise and public spirit of certain of our fellow townsmen were highly lauded, and a wonderful future of prosperity for the town of Gershom and the surrounding country was foretold as the result of the step about to be taken. The Beaver River was made the subject of long and laudatory discussion. Its motive power was calculated and valued, and the long running to waste of its waters deplored. A committee was appointed for the arranging of preliminaries, and that was as far as the matter progressed at that time.

Other attempts were made later in the same direction. Some of them passed beyond preliminary arrangements, and more than once the more sanguine among the promoters of these schemes made sure of a successful issue, but all had failed, when the practical part of the business had been touched.

The cause of this did not always clearly appear. Once at least it was attributed by some of the disappointed townspeople to the obstinacy and avarice of Jacob Holt. The old woollen mill, built by Gershom Holt in the early days of the settlement, had served a good purpose in the country for a good many years. But it was time now, it was thought, for the work to be carried on in Gershom on a larger scale. The old building itself was of little value, and the old-fashioned machinery it contained was of less, but the site was considered to be the best in Gershom for a manufactory of the kind. Jacob Holt professed to be quite ready to dispose of it to the company on reasonable terms, but when it came to the point no agreement could be made as to what were reasonable terms, and so the old mill plodded on in the old way for a while, and within the year a new mill was built in the neighbouring township of Fosbrooke. There was much indignation expressed with regard to this matter in Gershom, but Jacob troubled himself little about it. The old mill had gone the way of most old mills since then; it had caught fire one wintry night and burned to the ground, and the Gershom paper-mill had been built on the site.

Jacob had not come down in his ideas as to the value he set upon it, but he had been content to take shares in the building instead of the "cash down" which he had demanded before. In this way, and in other ways, he came by-and-by to be the largest shareholder in the concern, and when later, partly through the inefficiency of the person who had charge of the business, and partly for other reasons, paper-making began to look like a losing concern, the value of the shares went down, and in course of time most of them fell into his hands. So it was "Holt's paper-mill" now, and there was no other manufacturing company as yet in existence in

Gershom. The chances were, it was said, that had the first company succeeded with the woollen mill it might have fallen into the same hands, and as far as the general property of the town was concerned, it might as well have been Jacob Holt's hands as others. But those who had lost, or who fancied they had lost, by his part in these two transactions, were watchful and suspicious of his movements, when once more the wise men of Gershom began to see visions of what might be done by the combined powers of the Beaver River, the enterprise of the people, and the use of a moderate amount of capital, to advance the prosperity of their town.

Their ideas had still advanced with the times. Their plans were not limited to a woollen mill now. Machine shops of all sorts, a match factory, furniture shops, even a cotton factory was spoken of. Indeed there were no limits to the manufacturing possibilities of the place, as far as talk went. Money was needed, and a good deal of it, and the people of Gershom wisely contemplated the propriety of making use of other people's money in building up the town, and for this purpose it was desirable that the company should embrace the rich men of other towns as well. Some of those rich men came in an informal way, and looked about, and admired the Beaver River, and talked and thought a good deal about the scheme. The banks of the river above and below the town were examined with a view to deciding on the building of a new dam, and Mr. Fleming's refusal to sell any part of his land had been in answer to Jacob Holt's offer on behalf of the prospective company.

All this had taken place about the time when Mr. Maxwell came to Gershom, and when he had been there a year no advance had been made in the way of actual work.

The greater part of the land on the north side of the river, as far up as Ythan Brae, had always belonged to the Holts. During the past year, the land of Mark Varney, on the south side, had also fallen into their hands. For poor Mark's wife died, and any hope that his friends were beginning to have that he might redeem his character was quite lost for the time. He sold his place, already heavily burdened with debt, to Jacob Holt; his mother became Mr. Maxwell's housekeeper in the new parsonage, taking her little grandchild with her, and poor Mark went away-none for a while knew whither.

But the chief thing that concerned the people of Gershom was that Jacob Holt had got his land, and the conclusion at once arrived at, was that at the point on the river where his pasture and woodlot met, the new dam was to be made, and that on his land, and on the land opposite, the new factories, and the new town that must grow out of them, were to be built.

What Jacob ought to do now, would be to go right on, and make a good beginning on his own account. If there is ever going to be anything done in Gershom, that is the spot for it, and the company would have to come to his terms at last."

So said Gershom folks, wondering that the rich man of the place should "kind o' hang back" when such a chance of money-making seemed to lie before him. But Jacob knew several things, as yet only surmised by Gershom folks in general. It was by no means certain after all, that the Gershom manufac

turing company would come into existence immediately. And even if it should, the chances were that among its members would be more than one man, who would be little likely to yield himself to the dictation, or even to the direction of Jacob Holt, as his townsmen had fallen into the way of doing, where the outlay of capital was concerned. It would be easy to make a beginning, but Jacob looked further than a beginning.

Gershom was not the only place whose inhabitants cherished the ambition to become a manufacturing community, and there were other rivers besides the Beaver running to waste which might be made available as a manufacturing power. A company, with sufficient amount of stock subscribed and paid for, might agree to put Fosbrooke, or Fairfax, or Crowsville down as the name, and carry their money, and their influence, and the chance of acquiring wealth to either of their thriving towns; and a beginning in Gershom would amount to very little in such a case.

And then the river bank on the Varney place was not in Mr. Holt's opinion the best place for the new mills, and the new village. It was not to be compared to the point just below which Bear's Creek, or, as the Flemings called it, Ythan Brae, flowed into the Beaver, and this also belonged to Mr. Fleming. Jacob would have liked to make his beginning there. He knew, for he had taken advice on the matter, that at the Varney place no dam of sufficient capacity to answer all the purposes which were contemplated by the company could be made, without at certain seasons of the year so flooding the land above it as to render it useless for any purpose. He might have taken the risk of probable lawsuits, and gone on with the work, if it had depended on him alone to decide the matter. But it did not. Or he would have bought it but that it belonged to David Fleming, who would listen to no proposal from his "enemy."

It was not that Mr. Fleming was not satisfied with the terms offered. He would listen to no terms. Indeed he refused to discuss the matter with his neighbours, not only with those who might be suspected of wishing for one reason or another to convince him of the folly of not taking advantage of a good offer for his land, but with those who sympathised with him in his dislike to Jacob Holt, who went further than he did even, and called the rich man not only avaricious, but worse. He would listen to nothing about it, but rose and turned his back on the bold man who ventured to approach the subject in his presence.

In all this Jacob Holt felt himself to be hardly used. He declared to himself that he wished to do the right thing by Mr. Fleming. He was willing to give him the full value of every foot of his land,

and above its value. That the advancement of the interests of the town, and the welfare of the whole community should be interfered with because of an obstinate old man's whim, seemed to him intolerable; he did not want the land. Let Mr. Fleming treat with the company-there was no company as yet, however-and let him pay him his just debt, that was all he asked of him.

He did not speak often about this to any one-not a man in Gershom but had more to say about it than he. But he thought about it continually. If it had been any other man in Gershom who had so with

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stood him, he would long ago have taken such measures as would have brought him to his senses. He could do so lawfully, by-and-by. The law had sustained him in dealing with much harder cases than Mr. Fleming's, though it was not altogether pleasant to remember some of them, But there could be no question but that it would be for the interest of the Flemings, old and young, were his terms agreed to. No one would have a right to say a word, though he were to carry his point against the old man, and claim what was his due.

All this he said to himself many times, but still he could not do it, at least he could not bring himself to do it at once. His father, though he acknowledged the unreasonableness of his friend, would yet be grieved at the taking of extreme measures against him, his sister would be indignant, and he was a little afraid of Elizabeth. The Church union, which he with all the rest of Gershom had earnestly desired, would be endangered, for he knew by many tokens that some of the North Gore men were hanging back because of him. Public opinion would not sustain him in any steps taken against so old a man, and one who had seen so much trouble since he came among them, and he did not wish to take severe measures, he told himself many times. It is just possible that the remembrance of the lad who had been his companion and friend, who had been cut off in the flower of his youth, to the never-dying sorrow of the old man who opposed him, had something to do with his hesitation in this matter. But even to himself this was never acknowledged, all he could do was to wait and see whether some sudden turn of events might not serve to bring about his purpose better than severity could do.

In the meantime, after many thoughts about it, when the few scanty fields on the Varney place were harvested, he did make a beginning. He brought old Joe Middlemas to the place, who walked about with all the appliances for surveying it, and for laying it out in building lots. He had some trees cut down, and some hillocks levelled, and kept several men for a time employed in bringing loads of stone to the river's bank, in a way that looked very much like making a beginning. But the heavy autumn rains put an end to all this for a while, and as yet there existed no manufacturing company in Gorshom, nor was there any immediate prospect that the hopes of the people with regard to it were likely to be realised.

"They're fine at speaking, grannie," said young Davie, who had been keeping his eyes and his ears open to all that was going on in Gershom. "But grandfather and you may be at peace about the dam and the mischief it might do for a while any way. It may come in my day, but it winna come in yours, unless that should happen which is not very likely to happen, and all the rich men in the country should put their names and their money at the disposal of King Jacob. He may measure his land, and gather his sticks and his stones together, but that is all it will come to, this while at any rate. Though why grandfather should be so unwilling to part with a few acres of poor land to Jacob Holt is more than I can understand."

"It is a wonder to me, Davie lad, where you got such a conceit of yourself. One would think you were in folk's secrets, and spoke with authority. It will do here at home with Katie and your mother

But Mrs. Fleming was relieved for all that, for Davie was in her opinion a lad of sense and discretion for his years, though she did not think it necessary to tell him so, and she took comfort in the thought that her husband would have a while's peace, as little more could be done till the spring opened again.

CHAPTER XII.—THE TWO COUSINS.

A great disappointment was preparing for Elizabeth. Her brother completed his studies, and brought home his diploma whether he deserved it or not, and spent a pleasant six weeks at home, "resting from his labours," as he said, and then he announced his intention of going to reside in the city of Montreal, to pursue there the study of the law. It had always been taken for granted that when his studies came to an end, he was to go into the business of the Holts and settle down in Gershom.

"And what good should I do in the business?" said he to his sister; "should I stand behind the counter in the store and sell yards of calico and pounds of tea? Or should I take the tannery in hand, or the paper-mill? Or should I go into the new company that Jacob seems so bent on getting up? Now, Lizzie, do be reasonable and tell me what good I should do in the business?"

"I know that few young men in the country could hope for such a start in life. It is not necessary that you should sell tea or calico either, except by the hands of those you may employ-though if you were to do it, it would be no discredit to you-and no more than your father did before you many a day."

"Discredit! No, that is not the thing. But I can do something better for myself than that; I am going to try at least."

But, Clifton,

"If self is your first considerationwhether you think it or not, you could do much in the business, and you are needed in it. Jacob has more on his hands than he can do well, and even if he had not, it is your affair that the business should prosper as well as his. All we have is in it, and what do any of us know as to how our affairs stand? We are altogether in Jacob's hands."

"Come, now, Lizzie! Let Cousin Betsey and the rest of them run down Jacob. It is rather hard on him that his own sister should join them. I believe he is an honest man-as honesty among business men goes."

"I am not speaking of honesty or dishonesty. But Jacob is not such a man of business as our father was."

"No, but with his chances, he cannot but be carrying on a prosperous business. Oh, I'll risk

Jacob."

"But, Clifton, all that we have is in the business, and we ought to know."

"Why, Lizzie! who ever thought before that you were mercenary and suspicious, and I don't know what else besides? What has Jacob been doing to aggravate' you lately, that you should be down on him ?"

"Clifton, you must not dismiss the matter so lightly. I am thinking far more of you than of myself. You

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Have I ever said that I was to stay in Gershom? I don't say that I won't come back for good, some time. Gershom does seem to be the place for a halt, but as to going into the business right away, no, I thank you."

"I think you are wrong."

"Nonsense! What do you suppose, now, Jacob would do if I were to bring him to book, and claim a right to know all about his business transactions, and his plans, and prospects? It would be a mere farce my making believe to go into the business." Possibly you might make it so, but it need not But I cannot think it wise or right for you to go to Montreal. It is like setting aside the plans of your whole life to leave Gershom."

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be so.

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No, you are mistaken. Though I have said nothing about it, I have not this many a day meant to settle down here. I may ultimately hang out my shingle' here, or I may be appointed judge of the district by-and-by, and then I'll come back and be a bigger man than Jacob, even."

But Elizabeth could not laugh at his nonsense. She was afraid for her brother. She had longed for his return home, saying to herself that home influence and a busy life would be better for him than the careless life he had been living as a student; that with responsibility laid upon him, he would forget his follies, and be all that she longed to see him.

Think of our father's disappointment. How can you ever tell him that you are going away?" "While he has you he will be all right, and he will always be looking forward to the time when I shall come home for good, for I fully intend to settle here by-and-by. I confess it is hard for you to be kept stationary here, Lizzie. It looks mean in me to go away and leave you, doesn't it?"

"If it were going to be for your goodClifton, I don't believe it."

But,

"I ought to give myself the best chance, ought I not? I must go to Montreal. But, Lizzie, why don't you say at once that I am not to be trusted in the city with its temptations? That is what you are thinking of."

Elizabeth did not deny it. sadly enough.

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She was thinking of it

That is one reason against it," said she.

Well, get rid of that fear. I'm all right. I should be worse off loafing round here with little to do, and I shall be home often. Now, Lizzie, don't spoil the last days by fretting about what is not to be helped. I'm bound to go."

And go he did. Elizabeth could only submit in silence. His father missed him less than she had feared he might. He was home several times during the autumn and winter, and always spoke of the time when he was coming for good, and his father was content with that.

Whether her brother Jacob was really disappointed or not at Clifton's decision, Elizabeth could not tell. Jacob had never counted much on any help he would be likely to get from his brother," Mrs. Jacob said. She was quite inclined to make a grievance of his going away, as she would probably have made a grievance of his staying if he had stayed. But Jacob said little about it, and everything went on as before.

had been.

Elizabeth had the prospect of a quieter winter than even the last had been. Her father was less able to enjoy the company of his old friends than he He grew weary very soon now, and liked better the quiet of the house when only Elizabeth was with him. His active habits, and his interest in the business had long survived any real responsibility as to the affairs of the farm, but even these were failing him now. When the weather was bright and fine he usually once a day moved slowly down the village street, where every eye and voice greeted him respectfully, and every hand was ready to guide his feeble steps. He paid a daily visit to the store, or the tannery, or the paper-mill, as he had done for so many years, but it was from habit merely. He often came wearily home to slumber through the rest of the day.

He was querulous sometimes and exacting as to his daughter's care, and she rarely left him for a long time. She looked forward to no social duties in the way of merry-making for the young folks of the place this year. Even Clifton's coming home now and then did not enliven the house in this respect as it had done in former winters. Many a quiet day and long silent evening did she pass before the new year came in, and she would have had more of them had it not been for her Cousin Betsey.

Once or twice, when her father had suffered from some slight turn of illness, Elizabeth had sent for her cousin, whose reputation as a nurse had been long established, and Betsey had come at first, at some inconvenience to herself, from a sense of duty. Afterwards she came because she knew she was welcome, and because she liked to come, and all the work at home, most of which fell to her willing hands, was so planned and arranged that she might at a moment's notice leave her mother and her sister Cynthia to their own resources and the willing and effective help of Ben. After a time few weeks passed that she did not look in upon them.

"He may drop away most any time, mother," said she, "and she hasn't seen trouble enough yet to be good for much to help him or herself either, at a time like that."

"And you are so good in sickness. And your uncle Gershom's been a good friend to us always," said her mother. "I'm glad you should be with him when you can, and with her too. And trouble may do Lizzie good."

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'Well, it may be. Some folks don't seem to need so much trouble as others, at least they don't get so much, but Cousin Lizzie isn't going to be let alone in that respect, I don't think. Well, I guess I'll go along over, and I'll get back before night if nothing happens, and if I am not, as it's considerable drifted between here and the corner, Ben might come down after supper and see what is going on.'

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Trouble!" repeated Miss Betsey, as she gathered up the reins and laid the whip lightly on the back of "old Samson." "Trouble is just as folks take it. I have had my own share in my day, or I thought so," she added, with a sharp little laugh. "I just wonder what I should have done now if the Lord had let me have my own way about some things."

Old Samson moved steadily along, past Joel Bean's, and the bridge, and up the hill that brought Gershom in sight, and then she said aloud: "But then things might have been different," and then old Samson felt the whip laid on with a little more

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decision this time, and this, probably with the anticipation of the measure of oats awaiting him in the squire's stable, quickened his movements; and in a few minutes Miss Betsey was shaking the snow from her cloak in Sally Griffith's back kitchen. It had been snowing heavily for a while, and the movement of the sleigh had been unheard by Elizabeth, or she would have taken the shaking of the snowy garments into her own hands.

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"Folks as usual?" said Miss Betsey, as she came into the front kitchen, where Dolly reigned supreme, conscious of her value as "help," and careful of her dignity as a citizen of Gershom, as good as anybody." "Well, pretty much so, I guess. Kind of down these days, in general."

They had been youthful companions, these two, and had plenty to say to each other. So Betsey warmed her feet at the oven door, and they discussed several questions before she went into the sittingroom. She went in softly, so as not to disturb the old man, should he have fallen asleep in his chair as he sometimes did after dinner, so she had a chance to see Elizabeth's face before she knew that she was not alone. It was grave and paler than Betsey had ever seen it, and there was a weary far-away look in her eyes that were following the grey clouds just beginning to drift over the clearing sky. They brightened, however, as they turned at the sound of the opening door.

"Cousin Betsey! I'm so glad to see you. You have come to stay?

Friendly as they had become of late, Elizabeth did not often venture to kiss her cousin. She did this time, however, repeating,

"You have come to stay?"

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Well, yes.

I came fixed so as to stay a spell if I was wanted. Joel Bean's folks heard somewhere that Uncle Gershom hadn't been seen out in the street these two days, and I thought I'd just come over and see how he was keeping along."

"That was good of you. He was not out yesterday, and to-day has been so snowy. But he is no worse, a little better and brighter, if anything. But all the same I want you to stay."

"Well, I don't care if I do a spell. You must be hard up for company to be so glad to see

me."

Miss Betsey sat down by the fire, and took her knitting from her pocket. There were tears in Elizabeth's eyes which Betsey pretended not to see, and which Elizabeth did her best to keep back. She went into her father's room for a minute, and looked cheerful enough as she took her seat on the other side of the hearth opposite her cousin, with her work in her hand. But when she began to answer Betsey's questions about her father, his appetite, his strength, his nights, his days, the tears came again, and this time they fell over her cheeks. For she found herself sorrowfully telling that though he had comfortable days, and days when he seemed just as he used to do, it was evident that his strength was failing more rapidly than it had ever done during any winter before. She let her work fall on her lap, and leaning her elbow on the table, covered her face with her hands.

"He is an old man," said Betsey, gravely. "Yes. But he is all I have got," said Elizabeth, speaking with difficulty.