But there was no use in thinking of the past.  The thing to do now was to get to the city as quickly as possible, for to Archie every day seemed precious, and each delay kept him further from the consummation of his hopes.  It never occurred to the boy that his mother might have objections to his leaving home.  She had always been very ambitious for his future, and he supposed that she would be delighted at the idea of having her boy in the great city, where he would have innumerable chances for improving himself.  So when they sat on the front porch, one evening, and he told her of his plan, he was surprised to hear his mother pleading with him to remain at home.  “Archie,” she said, “I am almost sure you will come to some bad end in the city.  You really must not go, for my sake, if for no other reason.”

“But, mother, I can’t remain here in town always.  I must go out into the world some time to earn a living and make a place for myself, and I think the sooner I go the better, don’t you?”

“Yes, Archie, but you’re so young, and you’ve had no experience.  You have no idea of the things there are in great cities to drag young men down.  I don’t think I could stand it to have you so far away from home and in such danger.”

“Well, mother,” said Archie, “there isn’t much use in arguing about it.  I have reached a point where I don’t think I can be any longer satisfied at home.  I have been here seventeen years, and I think I can remain here that much longer without improving myself.  In the city I am sure I can make rapid progress, and in a year or two you can come there and live with me.”

Archie got up from the porch and went down the street, while poor Mrs. Dunn ran over next door to see her neighbour, Mrs. Sullivan.  When she had entered the disorderly kitchen, and seated herself on one of the home-made chairs, the anxious mother burst into tears.  “I don’t know what to think of Archie, Mrs. Sullivan,” she said.  “He is determined, now, to go to New York, and I know that if he goes I will never be able to see him again.  I am nigh distracted with worrying over it.  I have talked with him, but he seems determined, and I know I can never hold out against his entreaties and arguments.”

“Sure, now, Mrs. Dunn,” said the Widow Sullivan, “don’t yez be a worryin’ about ’im at all.  That Archie is a smart boy, he is, and if he goes to New York he’ll come out all right, never fear, I only wish my Dannie had as much get-up about him as your boy.”

“Yes, yes, Archie is very ambitious for his age,” said Mrs. Dunn, “but I sometimes wish he were less so.  I know I could keep him at home longer if he wasn’t so anxious to be at work.  I don’t believe I can let him go, Mrs. Sullivan, not yet.  I want him to stay in school another year, and then I’ll think about it.”

“Well, ye’re wise, Mrs. Dunn, ye’re a wise woman,” said the Widow Sullivan.  “Since yer husband died ye’ve been a good mother to the lad, and have brought ’im up well.  And now, how is yer chickens, Mrs. Dunn?  Have ye got that cochin hen a ‘settin’’ yit?”