“It’s like you to say it, and I won’t waste any words bewailing myself, because I was a fool. We will work up together, my brave Polly, and you shall yet be proud of your husband, though he is ‘poor Tom Shaw’.”

She was as sure of that as if an oracle had foretold it, and was not deceived; for the loving heart that had always seen, believed, and tried to strengthen all good impulses in Tom, was well repaid for its instinctive trust by the happiness of the years to come.

“Yes,” she said, hopefully, “I know you will succeed, for the best thing a man can have, is work with a purpose in it, and the will to do it heartily.”

“There is one better thing, Polly,” answered Tom, turning her face up a little, that he might see his inspiration shining in her eyes.

“What is it, dear?”

“A good woman to love and help him all his life, as you will me, please God.”

“Even though she is old-fashioned,” whispered Polly, with happy eyes, the brighter for their tears, as she looked up at the young man, who, through her, had caught a glimpse of the truest success, and was not ashamed to owe it to love and labour, two beautiful old fashions that began long ago, with the first pair in Eden.

Lest any of my young readers who have honoured Maud with their interest should suffer the pangs of unsatisfied curiosity as to her future, I will add for their benefit that she did not marry Will, but remained a busy, lively spinster all her days, and kept house for her father in the most delightful manner.

Will’s ministerial dream came to pass in the course of time, however, and a gentle, bright-eyed lady ruled over the parsonage, whom the reverend William called his “little Jane”.

Farther into futurity even this rash pen dares not proceed, but pauses here, concluding in the words of the dear old fairy tales, “And so they were married, and all lived happily till they died.”