THEY THAT WILL BE RICH.

IN the meantime, Margaret and Leonard made a pleasant journey, in high hope and expectation, and were received by their uncle at the railway terminus. The cab was driven through several handsome streets, and past many fine terraces, at one of which the young travellers expected it to stop, but not so. On they went to the heart of the city, and drew up before a large respectable-looking shop in a spacious thoroughfare. The great bay-windows were filled with woollen goods, one exhibiting costly carpets and rugs, the other piled with rolls of flannel of all colours and qualities.

While the children were wondering what they were stopping for, Mr. Haynes assisted them to alight, and saw the luggage deposited inside the shop. Then Mrs. Haynes and her three daughters came forward, and gave them a warm, affectionate welcome, not seeming to notice the wonder and sudden reserve plainly marked in their countenances.

Leonard was taken to a neat little room opening from the first flight of stairs, and Margaret was led higher, to share a large double-bedded room with her cousins. Everything was neat, but plain; and there were few traces of the former expensively furnished and luxurious home.

Margaret's astonishment and mortification were unbounded. What could it mean? Who would have thought of such a thing? To bring them, Margaret and Leonard Haynes, his brother's children, to a shop! And without telling them of such a change! How superior now seemed Myra's pretty white villa, with its curtained windows, and trees and shrubs, its tasteful rooms and well-lighted stairs! Oh to get back there by the next train, if it were but possible!

"Maggie, do you recollect third-class?" whispered Leonard, as they met to go down to tea.

"I do indeed," returned Margaret, in a whisper. "I wish we had never come. I shan't show my face out of doors here, I know; it is a shameful trick to serve us."

And it was hard to repress her tears of vexation by the time they reached the tea-table.

The sitting-room was very large, ascending by two long carpeted steps from the end of the shop, from which it was screened by half-glass doors and crimson curtains. The furniture comprised many of the handsome and luxurious articles of Mrs. Haynes's former sitting-room,—couch, easy-chairs, work-table, piano, and other things to which eye and hand had been accustomed; the table was liberally spread, the fire burned brightly, and a cheerful home aspect pervaded the well-lighted apartment.

Of Mr. Haynes's three daughters, one was older than Margaret, one younger, and one about the same age. They did their best to break through Margaret's coldness and induce her to eat. But she had no appetite, pleaded headache, and left Leonard to do justice to their hospitality, and afterwards to explore the premises with his playmate Jessy, while she begged permission to retire to bed.

"Did you explain to the children where you were bringing them, Herbert?" asked Mrs. Haynes when they were alone.

"No, my dear, I did not," he replied; "I preferred to give them a surprise."

"I am afraid it has been a very painful one," she remarked.

"I have no doubt of it, Ellinor, but I hope the effect will be salutary, after all. Edith and Lilian will probably be able to reconcile things by-and-by. Do not distress yourself, and let all go on as usual. My niece has no right to complain on her own behalf, for what could she expect to find in my home, when I was unable to provide one for her and the others?"

At breakfast the next morning Margaret was not more agreeable, and sat scornfully observant of all proceedings, while her cousins went upstairs to make beds and dust rooms, and her aunt washed the china on the tray, and replaced it in the large closet at the end of the room,—a young girl with bare arms, short skirt, and nimble step, carrying away what was not accommodated there.

Mr. Haynes was in the shop, where two or three assistants and apprentices formed the working staff; and Leonard was peeping and prying about everywhere, asking questions, and gradually reconciling himself to a state of things so utterly unexpected, and so evidently irremediable for the time.

Towards dinner-time, two fine boys made their appearance, having been paying a visit of a few days to their grandfather, who resided at a little distance from town, and who, they said, had brought them home in the carriage, but could not just then come in.

They and Leonard soon became friendly, for it was not in the boy's nature to continue long on stilts of pride before frank and genial efforts to amuse and please. And when "grandpapa's" carriage came to take all who would go for drives, he began to think he should make himself tolerably comfortable.

There was a gentle dignity in Mrs. Haynes's manner and appearance which could not escape observation; and, though attired in a plain morning dress suitable for household activity, she moved about her humble occupations as gracefully as she had ever done in her stylish drawing-room. And had Margaret been in a mood for drawing more favourable comparisons than those with which her young heart was swelling, she would have observed that a far sweeter and more interesting expression now adorned her aunt's always handsome face than when she spent her time and fretted her temper in maintaining a fashionable establishment conformed to the capricious fancies of the world and its ways.

It was true that she was not accustomed to household—drudgery, must it be called, for want of a better word? But life requires many menial duties which are no disgrace to any hand, and are often the better for one of neatness and delicacy. And Mrs. Haynes had learned to think nothing beneath her attention which contributed to the comfort of her family, especially in their altered circumstances.

Yet often might be heard in the house the quick exclamation:

"Mamma, mamma! You are not to do that;" or, "Please, dear mamma, let me do it; you know you showed me how;" "Now, mamma, you must just sit down and rest, and we will do it all so nicely."

And the happy mother would smile on her willing daughters; and if a little sigh struggled in her bosom, and a rebel tear threatened to come to light, she repressed them until she could be alone, and mingle with them thanks to God for dutiful children, and prayer for His blessing on all life's troubles. And well was it for her husband and her family that the sorrows and trials of so great a change in her position in life had not been "the sorrow of the world, working death," but the "godly sorrow" which is the blessed seed-time of a harvest of peace, humility, and holiness.

Mr. Haynes had been a manufacturer, and the possessor of extensive mills; and when a tide of prosperity floated him into affluence, he had seemed to think—as hundreds of successful men besides himself have thought—that his mountain stood strong, and he should never be moved. While thus forgetful of God, he was induced to join his brother in a speculation which was to enable them both to retire from business with splendid fortunes in a short space of time. So, at least, they fancied, but the result proved how mistaken were their calculations, and foolish their schemes.

Both indeed retired, but not as they anticipated. One, foreseeing the coming shock, broken in health and spirit by overwhelming anxiety, tried to put off the pressure in amusement and change of scene; and what might have been the real destination of the yacht when she met the squall which capsized her, none could tell. The other, left to breast the storm of trouble as best he could, struggled manfully, shook off the spray, clung to the rock, rallied to do all the justice in his power to those who suffered by his fault, and to learn a lesson, the benefit of which might descend to his children's children.

The father of Mrs. Haynes was also a manufacturer of the hereditary and substantial class, never suffering himself to be allured from his line of caution and foresight by any of the brilliant schemes which keep so many of the commercial community oftentimes up and down in the world like a skiff among the breakers, and which might possibly out-dance them, or more likely be broken a wreck upon the reefs. He was not what people called a rich man, but exceedingly "comfortable," able to maintain the same position and style as his father before him, and to leave something to the children who should succeed him. But he had his "notions" and "crotchets," the world said. And as he did not care in the least what it said so long as it could say nothing true to dishonour him, the "notions" and "crotchets" went for very little.

When the blow fell, and Mr. Haynes was pronounced "a ruined man," Mr. Fairfield, who had been somewhat slighted by his fashionable children because of his disapproval of certain of their proceedings, came forward and offered substantial assistance, if it should be accepted on his own terms.

Mr. Haynes thankfully expressed his readiness to accept any terms that would enable him to pay his debts and maintain his family. He had given up everything to his creditors, and they had acted kindly, but there yet remained a large deficiency, which he earnestly hoped some day to repay.

"Will you all really submit to some very great and important changes?" asked the old gentleman seriously.

"My dear sir, there is no choice in the matter; it is already inevitable," said Mr. Haynes somewhat bitterly.

"Yes, there is a choice yet," said Mr. Fairfield. "There are two ways in which a man in your present circumstances may act, and I have seen both tried. One is for him to be resolved to keep in his former rank in life, a sort of broken-down gentleman, sensitive to every slight, going about looking for some miraculous piece of good fortune that is to reinstate him, hunting up advertisements for lucrative situations, wasting time and energy, and feeling the miserable heart-sickness of hope deferred; wife and children struggling to keep up their lost dignity in gradually meaner lodgings, seeking secretly to do something 'not degrading' in the way of supplying the scanty meal, or cheering the poor husband and father when he comes in weary and disappointed. The end of all this is sometimes emigration for pride's sake, or wasting sickness and death in want and despair, while the helpless ones are thrown at last upon the world, to do as they may for themselves. I have seen this, I say, sir, and can give you names and dates for it."

"You shall not add mine to the list!" exclaimed Mr. Haynes, rising from his seat, and walking up and down the room in much excitement.

"Good," said Mr. Fairfield calmly; "now look at the other picture, which I can equally prove. It is to yield to the circumstances in which you find yourself, from causes which you know too well, but of which I do not now speak. To give up all useless struggle to maintain a position of empty gentility, to go to the bottom of the ladder and begin again as an honest, respectable, tradesman who is not ashamed of work."

"My dear sir, only show me the way to—"

"Very well, but hear me out. To go into a retail business in that department of trade which you understand, and which you managed well until you fell 'into a snare,' and 'pierced yourself with many sorrows'; strive and work with hope and energy; support a home on a frugal scale; be ashamed of nothing but wrong-doing; win the respect of all whose respect is worth having; and in time pay everybody what you now owe, and become honourably independent. If you will do this, I am prepared to stand by you, and give all the help in my power."

"A retail business, you said, sir?"

"I did. My means and my will are agreed on that matter. I have seen the purchaser of your property, and he is ready to supply you with goods sufficient to stock a respectable shop on the usual terms, for which I will give them security. Willis & Co., in — Street, have just given up business, having made two fortunes in this same line, and on those premises. The situation is very good, the house is spacious and commodious, and the landlord will accept you as a tenant, and make it a suitable residence for your family."

"They all wish to be doing something to help," said the father despondingly.

"Quite right, provided they decide on the right thing," rejoined Mr. Fairfield. "But my advice is, keep together; your daughters are too young to leave home yet. I do not incline to keep them at fashionable schools, and I hope they will be ready to help their mother, if she has the good sense to let them. I bought a good many of your things at the sale, for Ellinor and the children; and you can have them when you please. But I do not want to take you by surprise. Think of it, talk it over with Ellinor, and say that I charge her to help you in a course which involves the sacrifice of pride and pretension, and the triumph of right principle."

"But," suggested Mr. Haynes, "could we not do all this in some other neighbourhood, away from former friends and acquaintances who—"

"I have thought of that too," said Mr. Fairfield kindly, "and at first I hesitated, but on deeper consideration,—here, where you are known, offers the best prospect of business. Elsewhere you are one of the competing many; here you step into an old-established and well-conducted business at once, amidst people who know us all, you and me and Ellinor. And while the idle and worldly who petted her for her fine house and pleasant parties fall off, the worthy and honourable who respect and feel for her, will prove the value of their real friendship. My love to her and the children. Let me hear your decision to-morrow."

And the old gentleman hurried out to his carriage, which waited at the door of the lodging to which the family had retreated in their troubles. Before he could drive off, however, Mr. Haynes was at his side.

"One word, sir; could I not let the house, and take one for Ellinor and the children in a more—more healthy, airy situation, retaining only just what I require for myself at the—the shop?"

"And die yourself of neglect and home-sickness," jerked out the old gentleman testily. "Well, sir, ask Ellinor; let us hear her view of it.—Drive on, Harris."