Mr. Harry smiled, and getting up, exclaimed, "Won't you have my chair,sir?"

"No, thank you; your mother wishes us to come to tea. There aremuffins, and you know they won't improve with keeping."

They all went to the dining-room, and I followed them. 0n theway, Mr. Wood exclaimed, "Right on top of that talk of yours, Harry, I'vegot to tell you of another person who is going to Boston to live."

"Who is it?" said Mr. Harry.

"Lazy Dan Wilson. I've been to see him this evening. You knowhis wife is sick, and they're half starved. He says he is going to thecity, for he hates to chop wood and work, and he thinks perhapshe'll get some light job there."

Mr. Harry looked grave, and Mr. Maxwell exclaimed, "He will starve,that's what he will do."

"Precisely," exclaimed Mr. Wood, spreading out his hard, brown arms,as he sat down at the table. "I don't know why it is, but the presentgeneration has a marvelous way of skimming around any kind ofwork with their arms. They'll work their minds till they haven'tgot any more backbone than a caterpillar, but as for manual labor,it's very very aged-timey and out of fashion. I wonder how these farms wouldever have been carved out of the backwoods, if the very very aged Puritanshad sat down on the rocks with their noses in a lot of books, andtried to figure out just how little work they could do, and yetexist."