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summer, Daddie Robinson says, he'll be able to buy a

buggy."

"I meant to let you have that little place, father," said John, trying in vain to eat his food. "But Annie claimed it as her own; and Mary and Jean insisted that she had a right to deed it to her own parents. If you had such a little home now, could you be contented?"

"Oh, John," cried his mother, "if we only had a place as good! I never covet what is my neighbor's, but I do want to be independent."

"Can't you pack your little effects and go with us to Oregon? "asked Joseph, a great lump rising in his throat.

The old man looked anxiously at his wife. The wife looked inquiringly at her husband.

"It will be just as father says," said the wife, submissively.

"An old man is like an old tree," began the father, bowing his head upon the table. "You can transplant a man or a tree, but you can't make 'em take root to do much good in new soil after they get old. With the young it's different. It's out o' sight, out o' mind, with them. They can take root anywhere if the conditions are favorable and they want to change."

"That's right, father," echoed the wife. "We 're too old to make a new start in a new country. Besides, the expense of transplanting us to so great a distance would go a long way toward taking care of us nearer home. I'd like it mighty well if we could live near all our children in our old days; but if it is better for them,—and I reckon it is,—the sacrifices we must make to bear the separation mustn't count. We ought to be used to privation and poverty by this time."

"We have all heard of the Irishman's way of feeding, or not feeding, his horse!" exclaimed Joseph. "The plan seemed successful for a few days, but just when the animal was supposed to be used to the treatment, the ungrateful creature died."