“I really don’t see how we are ever to get through with the education of all these children, Mary,” he remarked with a sigh, “I’m sure it can’t be done with my salary.  It takes every cent of it now, and in a little while it must cost us more than it does at present.”

“We’ve always got along very well, William,” replied the wife.  “As our family has increased our means have increased, and I have no doubt will continue to increase, if the wants of our children require us to have a larger income than we enjoy at present.”

“I don’t know—­I’m not sure of that.  It was more by good fortune than any thing else that I succeeded in obtaining better employment than I had when we were married.  Suppose my salary had continued to be only four hundred dollars, what would we have done?”

“But it didn’t continue at four hundred dollars, William.”

“It might though—­think of that.  It was by the merest good luck in the world that I got into the insurance office—­there we’re two or three dozen applicants, and the gaining of the place by me was mere chance work.  If I hadn’t been in the insurance office for so many years, and by that means become acquainted with most of the directors of the bank, I never would have attained my present comfortable place.  It makes me sick when I think of the miserable plight we would now be in, if that piece of good fortune had not accidentally befallen me.”

“Don’t say accidentally,” returned the wife, in a gentle tone, “say providentially.  He who sent us children, sent with them the means for their support.  It isn’t luck, dear, it is Providence.”

“It may be, but I can’t understand it,” returned Mr. Bancroft, doubtingly.  “To me it is all luck.”

After this remark, he was silent for some time.  Then he said, with a tone made cheerful by the thought he expressed,

“How pleasantly we would be getting along if our family were no larger than it was when I had only four hundred dollars income.  How easy it would be to lay up a thousand dollars every year.  Let me see, we have been married over sixteen years.  Just think what a handsome little property we would have by this time—­sixteen thousand dollars.  As it is, we haven’t sixteen thousand cents, and no likelihood of ever getting a farthing ahead.  It is right down discouraging.”

The semi-cheerful tone in which Mr. Bancroft had commenced speaking, died away in the last brief sentence.

“Two or three children are enough for any body to have,” he resumed, half fretfully; “and quite as many as can be well taken care of.  With two or even three, we might be as happy and comfortable as we could desire.  But with seven, and half as many more in prospect, O dear!  It is enough to dishearten any one.”

Mrs. Bancroft did not reply, but drew her arm tighter around the babe that lay asleep upon her breast.  Her mind wandered over the seven jewels that were to her so precious, and she asked herself which of them she could part with; or if there was an earthly good more to be desired than the love of these dear children.