I hate it more and more, I verily believe, each time I come home; and I think that, if my mother weren't in it, I should burn it down some night." Mercy looked at him with a certain shade of the same contempt with which she had looked at the house; and Stephen winced, as she said coolly,-- "Why, of course I can help it.

I should be very much ashamed of myself if I couldn't.

I never allow myself to be distressed by things which I can't help,--at least, that sort of thing," added Mercy, her face clouding with the sudden recollection of a grief that she had not been able to rise above.

"Of course, I don't mean real troubles, like grief about any one you love.

One can't wholly conquer such troubles as that; but one can do a great deal more even with these than people usually suppose.