Maria looked at her father with quick concern.

“Father, what is the matter with you?” she asked.  “I don’t care about the working part.  I want to work.  I shall like to go to Amity, and board with Aunt Maria, and teach, except for leaving you and Evelyn, but—­what is the matter with you, father?”

“Nothing is the matter.  Why?” asked Harry; and he tried to smile.

“What made you speak so, father?”

Maria had sprung to her feet, and was standing in front of her father, with pale face and dilated eyes.  Her father looked at her and hesitated.

“Tell me, father; I ought to know,” said Maria.

“There is nothing immediate, as far as I know,” said Harry, “but—­”

“But what?”

“Well, dear, nobody can live always, and of course you can’t realize it, young as you are, and with no responsibilities; but father is older, and sometimes he can’t help thinking.  He wishes he had been able to save a little more, in case anything happened to him, and he can’t help planning what you would do if—­anything happened to him.  You know, dear,” Harry hesitated a little, then he continued—­“you know, dear, that father had his life insured for—­Ida, and I doubt if—­I am older, you know, now, and those companies don’t like to take chances.  I doubt if I could, or I would have an additional insurance put on my life for you.  Then Ida would have by law her share of this property, and Evelyn her share, and all you would have would be a very little, and—­Well, father can’t help thinking that perhaps it would be wise for you to make some plans so you can help yourself a little, but—­it almost breaks father’s heart to think that—­his—­little girl—­” Poor Harry fairly broke down and sobbed.

Maria’s arm was around his neck in a moment, and his poor gray head, which had always been, in a way, the head of an innocent boy, was on her young girl breast.  She did not ask him any more questions.  She knew.  “Poor father!” she said.  Her own voice broke, then she steadied it again with a resolute effort of her will.  There was a good deal of her mother in Maria.  The sight of another’s weakness always aroused her own strength.  “Father,” she said, “now you just listen to me.  I won’t hear any more talk of anything happening to you.  You have not eaten enough lately.  I have noticed it.  That is all that ails you.  You have not had enough nourishment.  I want you to go to-morrow to Dr. Wells and get some of that tonic that helped you so much before, and, father, I want you to stop worrying about me.  I honestly want to teach.  I want to be independent.  I should, if you were worth a million.  It does not worry me at all to think I am not going to have enough money to live on without working, not at all.  I want you to remember that, and not fret any more about it.”

For answer, Harry sobbed against the girl’s shoulder.  “It seems as if I might have saved more,” he said, pitifully, “but—­I have had heavy expenses, and somehow I didn’t seem to have the knack that some men have.  I made one or two investments that didn’t turn out well.  I didn’t say anything about them to—­Ida.”