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“And so the sum of a man’s fortune. A dollar mis-spent is a dollar lost, and never can be regained. You say that it will require three thousand dollars to admit a partner into the business of which you just spoke?”

“Yes. Nothing less will do.”

“I have but two thousand.”

“Have you so much, Peyton?” said Merwin, with a brightening face.

“I have.”

“Right glad am I to hear it. I only wish that I could furnish you with a thousand more. But it is out of my power entirely. Our business requires the use of every dollar we have; and it would not be just to my partner to draw out so large a sum for the purpose of assisting a friend in whom he can feel no interest.”

“No, of course not. I neither ask nor expect it. I will wait a little longer. Something else will offer.”

“But nothing so really advantageous as this. Let me see. I think I might get you five hundred dollars, if you could borrow as much more.”

“That I cannot do. I never asked a favour of any one in my life.”

“Though you have dispensed thousands.”

“Foolishly perhaps. But no matter. I will wait.”

A week afterward, Peyton, who dismissed all thought of embracing the proposed offer of going in business, paid a visit to his mother. He had not seen her for a year. She was still cheerful, active, and retained her usual good health.

“I think it time you gave up this shop, mother,” said he to her. “You are too old now to be working so closely. I’ve got something saved up for a rainy day, in case any thing should go wrong with me for a time. You will give up this shop, won’t you?”

“No, Henry; not yet. I am still able to help myself, and so long as I am able, I wish to do it. If you have saved any thing, you had better keep it until an opportunity for going into business offers.”

“Such a chance has just presented itself. But I hadn’t capital enough.”

“How much have you saved?”

“Two thousand dollars.”

“So much? How much is required?”

“Three thousand dollars.”

“And you have but two?”

“That is all–though a friend did offer to get me five hundred more. But twenty-five hundred is not sufficient. There must be three thousand.”

Mrs. Peyton made no reply. She sat a few minutes, and then arose and went up-stairs. In about ten minutes she came down, and approaching her son, with a warm glow of pleasure upon her face, placed a small roll in his hands, saying as she did so–

“There is all you need, my son. The money you sent me so regularly for the last five years, I have kept untouched for some such moment as this. I did not feel that I needed it. Take it back, and start fairly in the world. In a few more years I may need rest, as life draws nearer to a close. Then I trust you will be in circumstances so good that I needn’t feel myself a burden to you.”

“A burden? Dear mother! Do not speak of ever being a burden to me,” said the young man, embracing his parent with tearful emotion. “No–no,” and he pushed back her hand; “I cannot take that money. It is yours. I will not risk in business the little treasure you have saved up so carefully. I may not succeed. No–no!” and he still pushed back his mother’s hand–“it is of no use–I cannot–I will not take it!”

The roll of money fell to the floor.

“It is yours, Henry, not mine,” urged the mother. “I did not stand in need of it.”

“Your son owed you much more than that. He was wrong that he did not double the amount to you, in order to make up for former years of neglect. No–no–I tell you, mother, I cannot take your money. Nothing would tempt me to do it. I will wait a little longer. Other opportunities will soon offer.”