Mr. Hunter had been a widower ever since his boy was three years old, and the youth was now fourteen.  His sister Maggie was two years his senior, and they were deeply attached to each other.  Maggie was a daughter after her father’s own heart,—­one of those rare, sensible girls who cannot be spoiled by indulgence, who was equally fond of her parent and who stood unflinchingly by her brother in the little differences between father and son, which, sad to say, were becoming more frequent and serious with the passing weeks and months.  It is probable that the affection of the parent for the daughter prevented him from ever thinking of marrying again, for she was a model housekeeper, and he could not bear the thought of seeing anyone come into the family and usurp, even in a small degree, her functions and place.

Mr. Hunter was getting on in years, and nothing was more natural than that he should wish and plan that Tim should become his successor in the development of the valuable quarry that was not likely to give out for many a year to come.  But the boy showed no liking for the business.  He was among the best scholars in the village school, fond of play and so well advanced in his studies that his parent determined to begin his practical business training in earnest.  He looked upon a college education as a waste of so many years, taken from the most precious part of a young man’s life, and it must be said that Tim himself showed no wish to attend any higher educational institution.

Tim had assisted about the quarry, more or less for several years.  Of course he was too young to do much in the way of manual labor, but there were many errands that he ran, beside helping to keep his father’s accounts.  He wrote an excellent hand, was quick in figures and had such a command of language that all his parent had to do was to tell him the substance of the letter he wished written, to have the boy put it in courteous but pointed and clear form.  The elder had never detected an error in the computations of the younger, who had no trouble at all when the operations included difficult fractions.

All this was good in its way, but it could not be denied that Tim had no liking for the business itself.  His father had told him repeatedly that he must prepare himself for the active management of the stone works, and that to do so required something more than quickness in figures and skill in letter writing.  But it was in vain.  Tim was never at the works unless by direct command of his parent, and seized the first opportunity to get away.

“No person can succeed in a business which he dislikes,” remarked Mr. Hunter to Maggie who on this summer afternoon sat on the front porch, plying her deft needle, while the waning twilight lasted, with Bridget inside preparing the evening meal.

“I think that is true, father,” was her gentle reply.

“And that boy hates the stone business and I can’t understand why he should.”