“Oh, papa, papa, not yet, not yet,” pleaded the children; and with the thought that it might be many a long day before he saw their sweet young faces again, the father suffered them to have their way.

After the children had gone to bed Frank and his father and mother sat up for a long time.  Each felt that there was much to be said, but no one of them felt like saying much then.  Thoughts of the approaching separation swallowed up all others.  The thought kept recurring that to-morrow would see them many miles apart, and that many a long to-morrow must pass before they would again be gathered around the fire.

“Frank,” said his father, at length, “I have deposited in the Brandon Bank four hundred dollars, about half of which I have realized from crops sold this season.  This you will draw upon as you have need, for grocery bills, to pay Jacob, etc.  For present purposes I will hand you fifty dollars, which I advise you to put under your mother’s care.”

As he finished speaking, Mr. Frost drew from his pocketbook a roll of bills and handed them to Frank.

Frank opened his portemonnaie and deposited the money therein.

He had never before so large a sum of money in his possession, and although he knew it was not to be spent for his own benefit—­at least, no considerable part of it—­he felt a sense of importance and even wealth in being the custodian of so much money.  He felt that his father had confidence in him, and that he was in truth going to be his representative.

“A part of the money which I have in the bank,” continued his father, “has been saved up toward the payment of the mortgage on the farm.”

“When does it come due, father?”

“On the first of July of next year.”

“But you won’t be prepared to meet it at that time?”

“No, but undoubtedly Squire Haynes will be willing to renew it.  I always pay the interest promptly, and he knows it is secured by the farm, and therefore a safe investment.  By the way, I had nearly forgotten to say that there will be some interest due on the first of January.  Of course, you are authorized to pay it just as if you were myself.”

“How much will it be?”

“Twenty-four dollars—­that is, six months’ interest at six per cent. on eight hundred dollars.”

“I wish the farm were free from encumbrance,” said Frank.

“So do I; and if Providence favors me it shall be before many years are past.  But in farming one can’t expect to lay by money quite as fast as in some other employments.”

The old clock in the corner here struck eleven.

“We mustn’t keep you up too late the last night, Henry,” said Mrs. Frost.  “You will need a good night’s sleep to carry you through to-morrow.”

Neither of the three closed their eyes early that night.  Thoughts of the morrow were naturally in their minds.  At last all was still.  Sleep—­God’s beneficent messenger—­wrapped their senses in oblivion, and the cares and anxieties of the morrow were for a time forgotten.