"i wish i could pay off the mortgage on my farm," said mark nelson soberly, taking his seat on the left of the fireplace, in the room where his wife and family were assembled.

"have you paid the interest, mark?" asked his wife.

"yes; i paid it this afternoon, and it has stripped me of money completely. i have less than five dollars in my pocketbook toward buying you and the children clothes for the winter."

"never mind me," said his wife cheerfully. "i am pretty well provided for."

"why, mother," said sarah, the oldest daughter, a girl of fourteen; "you haven't had a new dress for a year."[4]

"i have enough to last me till spring, at any rate," said the mother.

"you never buy anything for yourself."

"i don't go in rags, do i?" asked mrs. nelson, with a smile.

mrs. nelson had a happy disposition, which led her to accept uncomplainingly, and even cheerfully, the sacrifices which, as the wife of a farmer in poor circumstances, she was compelled to make.

"you are right, sarah," said mark nelson. "your mother never seems to think of herself. she might have been much better off if she had not married me."

the children did not understand this allusion. they had never been told that their mother had received an offer from squire hudson, the wealthiest man in the village, but had chosen instead to marry mark nelson, whose only property was a small farm, mortgaged for half its value. her rejected admirer took the refusal hard, for, as much as it was possible for him, he loved the prettiest girl in the village, as mary dale was generally regarded. but mary knew him to be cold and selfish, and could not make up her mind to marry him. if she had done so, she would now be[5] living in the finest house in the village, with the chance of spending the winter in new york or boston, instead of drudging in an humble home, where there was indeed enough to eat, but little money for even necessary purposes. she had never regretted her decision. her husband, though poor, was generally respected and liked, while the squire, though his money procured him a certain degree of consideration, had no near or attached friends.

to squire hudson many in the village paid tribute; for he held mortgages on twenty farms and buildings, and was strict in exacting prompt payment of the interest semi-annually. it was he to whom mark nelson's farm was mortgaged for two thousand dollars. the mortgage had originally been for fifteen hundred dollars, but five years before it had been increased to two thousand, which represented more than half the sum which it would have fetched, if put up for sale. the interest on this sum amounted to a hundred and twenty dollars a year, which mark nelson always found it hard to raise. could he have retained it in his hands, and devoted it to the use of his family, it would have helped them wonderfully, with mrs. nelson's good management.[6]

tom, the oldest boy, now approaching his sixteenth birthday, looked up from a book he was reading. he was a bright-looking boy, with brown hair, a ruddy complexion, and dark-blue eyes, who looked, and was, frank and manly.

"what is the amount of your interest?" he asked.

"sixty dollars every half-year, tom. that is what i paid to squire hudson this afternoon. it would have made us very comfortable, if i only could have kept it."

"it would have done you more good than the squire," said sarah.

"he has more money than he knows what to do with," said her father, almost complainingly. "it seems hard that money should be so unevenly distributed."

"money is not happiness," said mrs. nelson quietly.

"no; but it helps to buy happiness."

"i don't think squire hudson is as happy a man as you, mark."

mark nelson's face softened as he surveyed his wife and children.

"i am happy at home," he said, "and i don't think the squire is."[7]

"i am sure he isn't," said tom. "mrs. hudson is sour and ill-tempered, and sinclair—the only child—is a second edition of his mother. he is the most unpopular boy in the village."

"still," said the farmer, not quite convinced, "money is an important element of happiness, and a farmer stands a very poor chance of acquiring it. tom, i advise you not to be a farmer."

"i don't mean to be if i can help it," said tom. "i am ready for any opening that offers. i hope some day to pay off the mortgage on the farm, and make you a free man, father."

"thank you for your good intentions, tom; but two thousand dollars is a large sum of money."

"i know it, father; but i was reading in a daily paper, not long since, of a boy, as poor as myself, who was worth twenty-five thousand dollars by the time he was thirty. why shouldn't this happen to me?"

"don't build castles in the air, tom," said his mother sensibly.

"at least, mother, i may hope for good luck. i have been wanting to talk to you both about[8] my future prospects. i shall be sixteen next week, and it is time i did something."

"you are doing something—working on the farm now, tom."

"that don't count. father advises me not to be a farmer, and i agree with him. i think i am capable of making my way in the world in some other way, where i can earn more money. there is walter, who likes the country, to stay with you."

walter, the third child, was now twelve years of age, with decided country tastes.

"i would like to be a farmer as well as anything," said walter. "i like the fresh air. i shouldn't like to be cooped up in a store, or to live in the city. let tom go if he likes."

"i have no objection," said mr. nelson; "but i have neither money nor influence to help him. he will have to make his own way."

"i am not afraid to try," said tom courageously. "from this day i will look out for a chance, if you and mother are willing."

"i shall not oppose your wishes, tom," said mrs. nelson gravely, "though it will be a sad day for me when you leave your home."

"that isn't the way to look at it, mother," said tom. "if gold pieces grew on currant[9] bushes, it wouldn't be necessary for me to leave home to make a living."

"i wish they did," said harry, a boy nine years of age.

"what would you do then, harry?" asked his brother, smiling.

"i would buy a velocipede and a pair of skates."

"i heard of a boy once who found a penny in the field, right under a potato-vine," said walter.

"i don't believe it," said harry.

"it's true, for i was the boy."

"where did it come from?"

"tom put it there to fool me."

"won't you put one there to fool me, tom?" asked harry.

"you are too smart, harry," said tom, laughing. "my pennies are too few to try such experiments. i hope, by the time you are as old as walter, to give you something better."

the conversation drifted to other topics, with which we are not concerned. tom, however, did not forget it. he felt that an important question had that evening been decided for him. he had only thought of making a start for himself hitherto. now he had[10] broached the subject, and received the permission of his father and mother. the world was all before him where to choose. his available capital was small, it is true, amounting only to thirty-seven cents and a jack-knife; but he had, besides, a stout heart, a pair of strong hands, an honest face, and plenty of perseverance—not a bad equipment for a young adventurer.