zine toward his mother. She dropped the biscuit she was molding and seized it.
"Harper's Monthly! O Jason dear, how wonderful! You shall read it aloud to me after supper."
"It's prayer meeting night," said Jason in a sick voice.
His mother flushed a little. "So it is! My goodness, Jason! Print makes a heathen of me and you're most as bad. You haven't fed the horse or milked."
"So I won't get a look at it till tomorrow," cried Jason, bitterly.
Mrs. Wilkins glanced toward the closed door that led into the sitting room. Then she looked at Jason's wide brown eyes, at the round-about she had cut over from his father's old sermon coat, at the darned stockings and the trousers that had belonged to the rich boy of the town they had lived in the year before.
"Jason," she said, "you ought to get
