Perhaps the hardest thing Peter encountered was answering his mother’s questions about the visit.  Yet he never flinched nor dodged from a true reply, and if his mother had chosen, she could have had the whole story.  But something in the way Peter spoke of Miss Pierce made Mrs. Stirling careful, and whatever she surmised she kept to herself, merely kissing him good-night with a tenderness that was unusual not merely in a New-Englander, but even in her.  During the rest of his stay, the Pierces were quite as much kept out of sight, as if they had never been known.  Mrs. Stirling was not what we should call a “lady,” yet few of those who rank as such, would have been as considerate or tender of Peter’s trouble, if the power had been given them to lay it bare.  Love, sympathy, unselfishness and forbearance are not bad equivalents for breeding and etiquette, and have the additional advantage of meeting new and unusual conditions which sometimes occur to even the most conventional.

One hope did come to her, “Perhaps, now that”—­and Mrs. Stirling left “that” blank even in her thoughts; “now my boy, my Peter, will not be so set on going to New York.”  In this, however, she was disappointed.  On the second day of his stay, Peter spoke of his intention to start for New York the following week.

“Don’t you think you could do as well here?” said Mrs. Stirling.

“Up to a certain point, better.  But New York has a big beyond,” said Peter.  “I’ll try it there first, and if I don’t make my way, I’ll come back here”

Few mothers hope for a son’s failure, yet Mrs. Stilling allowed herself a moment’s happiness over this possibility.  Then remembering that her Peter could not possibly fail, she became despondent.  “They say New York’s full of temptations,” she said.

“I suppose it is, mother,” replied Peter, “to those who want to be tempted.”

“I know I can trust you, Peter,” said his mother, proudly, “but I want you to promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“That if you do yield, if you do what you oughtn’t to, you’ll write and tell me about it?” Mrs. Stirling put her arms about Peter’s neck, and looked wistfully into his face.

Peter was not blind to what this world is.  Perhaps, had his mother known it as he did, she might have seen how unfair her petition was.  He did not like to say yes, and could not say no.

“I’ll try to go straight, mother,” he replied, “but that’s a good deal to promise.”

“It’s all I’m going to ask of you, Peter,” urged Mrs. Stirling.

“I have gone through four years of my life with nothing in it I couldn’t tell her,” thought Peter.  “If that’s possible, I guess another four is.”  Then he said aloud, “Well, mother, since you want it, I’ll do it.”

The reason of Peter’s eagerness to get to New York, was chiefly to have something definite to do.  He tried to obtain this distraction of occupation, at present, in a characteristic way, by taking excessively long walks, and by struggling with his mother’s winter supply of wood.  He thought that every long stride and every swing of the axe was working him free from the crushing lack of purpose that had settled upon him.  He imagined it would be even easier when he reached New York.  “There’ll be plenty to keep me busy there,” was his mental hope.