“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.”

It was in vain that Mrs. Peyton urged her son, until her distress of mind became so great that he was almost forced to receive the money she pushed upon him—­although, in doing so, it was with the intention of leaving it behind him when he returned to the city.  But the deep satisfaction evinced by his mother, on his consenting to take it, was of a kind that he did not feel it would be right for him to do violence to.  When he did return to the city, he could not find it in his heart to leave the money, just six hundred dollars, on the table in the little room where he slept, as he had at first resolved to do.  He took it with him; but with the intention of investing it for her in some safe security.

When he again met Merwin, he was urged so strongly to make an effort to raise the capital requisite to become a partner in the business that had been named to him, that after some severe struggles with himself, he at last consented to use the money he had brought home with him.  His friend loaned him four hundred dollars to make up the required sum.