This was the preamble to an abstract of the conversation with her husband, the troubled reverie and calculations that succeeded it.

" Of artists in music and painting, there are, perhaps, twenty in this city," she observed. "Of pretenders and drudges in these arts, there are more than a thousand. Since not one of you has developed any decided talent for such pursuits, or for literature, and, since teaching for a living has become but another name for bondage and starvation, my plan is this: You, Emma, shall learn bookkeeping; Imogen, dressmaking; Blanche, millinery. Don't look horrified! I shall not expose you to the uncongenial associations or unwholesome atmosphere of the crowded shop or work-room. All that affection and money can do to make the term of your novitiate pleasant shall be done. You shall fit up the old nursery as your academy of the useful arts, if you choose to call it by so dignified a name. I shall engage competent instructors for you and pay well for the lessons. But there must be no play-work, no superficial, amateur performance on either side. When your trades are learned, I shall expect you to keep yourselves in practice, and up with the latest improvements and fashions by practice in domestic manufactures. Milliners' and dressmakers' bills shall be among the things that were. Emma shall have charge of the housekeeping accounts and papa's books, He will pay her as he would any other skilful accountant, and what you, Imogen and Blanche, shall adjudge to be a reasonable price for every dress and bonnet made for yourselves, your sister, or for me."

The, for once, dumb trio found simultaneous voice at this.

"Mamma! would that be right? Would it not be an imposition?"

" It is his own proposal. We talked it all over last night after he came home, and again this morning. 1 need not tell you that he is the best, most indulgent father that ever loved and spoiled three loving daughters. I had some difficulty in persuading him to let me try the experiment. The tears stood in his dear eyes, while he debated the pros and cons of the case.

"My bonnie bairns!' he said. 'If I could, I would be their shield always. They should never dream of privation; never ink or prick their pretty fingers except for amusement, if I were sure of ten years more of life and prosperity.'"

She stopped to steady her voice.

Imogen was crying outright; Emma's gray eyes were cloudy. Blanche broke forth, half-laughing, half-sobbing : "The angelic old papa! isn't he a born seraph? I would peddle rags with a lean mule, and a string of bells across the cart, to save him an hour's anxiety. I wish he would wear French hats - all flowers and moonshine! And have four every season. Would not I furnish them for nothing, kisses thrown into the bargain ?"

The others had to laugh at the vision of papa's six feet of stature, broad shoulders, strong features, and iron-gray hair crowned with a fancy hat of the prevailing mode. Mrs. Hiller went on: 'But,' he added, 'I willnot, while I can take care of them, derive one cent's profit from their work. There is no surer way of learning how to take care of money than having money to manage. I will furnish each of the pusses with a bank-book. She shall make out quarterly bills against you, or me; deposit her gains in her own name, and invest as she will. Her earnings may thus be the nest-egg of a neat little fortune. I can't imagine - I won't believe that they will ever become mercenary. But I am sick of the limpness and insipidity and general know-nothingness of the women with whom I have business dealings. 'My dear husband never suffered me to be annoyed by these matters,' says the widow, her handkerchief to her eyes. And - 'If my poor papa had foreseen this day, it would have embittered his life !' sobs the interesting spinster of forty-seven, who ' hasn't an idea how to make out a checque,' and really doesn't know the difference between real and personal estate! "

"The Payne girls!" uttered Imogen and Blanche, in wicked glee. "Mamma, you ' did' Arethusa to the life."

She resumed more seriously. " Something papa heard last night caused us to lay this subject especially to heart. Doctor Jaynes says there is no doubt that Mr. Sibthorpe is threatened with softening of the brain. He has been doing extra work this winter -bookkeeping and copying in the evenings, at home, as he could pick up such jobs, to eke out his salary, and it has been too much for him. Nothing but absolute rest and freedom from care can save him. Doctor Jaynes told him so plainly, and he answered, with tears, that it was out of the question - he must die in harness. It was natural that the news should interest and sadden us."

"He has a very helpless family," remarked Emma, compassionately.

"Because so many of them - all who are grown are - are girls!" cried Blanche, impetuously. "That tells the whole story. And such a pitiful, disgraceful, humiliating one it is! I could be ashamed of being a woman. Mrs. Sibthorpe - indeed a majority of American mothers of the genteeler sort, ought to turn pagans, and drown their baby-girls as soon as they are born. That would be better than turning them loose - great, overgrown babies, forever whining, with their fingers in their mouths, over their feebleness, and timidity, and sentimental ignorance - upon a grinning, or groaning public!"

"But how strange that we have never taken this subject into serious consideration before," said sensible Emma. " That other people do not, is certain. Mother, you won't mind if I ask you a question or two?"

"My precious child! as many as you like. I wish you to state every objection frankly. You are of age, you know. I could not compel you to adopt my suggestion, if I were disposed to do so. Nor will I coerce the judgment of one of you three. We must go into this enterprise heartily and all together, or not at all."

"Will not our action excite much talk when it is known, give rise to unpleasant surmises, and subject us to many impertinent inquiries?"