we have learned them. It-it came rather suddenly, you see." Evidently Jessamy was going to be the princess her cousin called her, and meet misfortune proudly. value of your stock is wiped out; practically, she said. "We all shall play our parts when you have no stock. Still, I hope. matters will not be as bad as Miss Jessamy pictures. This house will rent or sell for enough to give you six or eight thousand a year, and if you sell the pictures and furniture you will have a very respectable principal to live upon; bad as the case is, it might be far worse." "Do you mean that this house will be the sole-actually the sole-source of income?" gasped Mrs. Wyndham, with more agitation than she had yet shown. Mr. Hurd nodded. The poor lady uttered a sharp cry, and fell back, sobbing wildly. "Then I have nothing, nothing!" she screamed. "My darlings are beggared." Phyllis rang for Violet, and Mr. Hurd leaped to his feet, apprehending the truth. "What do you mean, Mrs. Wyndham ?" he demanded. Mrs. Wyndham rested her head on Phyllis's arm. "Last March," she said feebly, "Mr. Abbott came to me, telling me that the business was temporarily embarrassed, and asked me to let him negotiate a loan with this house as security." Mr. Hurd, who had been pacing the floor furiously, stopped short with a fervent imprecation. Halting before the feeble creature who had been so duped, he thrust his hands deep in his pockets and gazed down at her. "And you did it?" he growled. Mrs. Wyndham bowed her head lower, and just then Violet came back with Jessamy, who had gone to seek her, and, with her black face gray from sympathy and fright, put her strong arms around her mistress's fragile body, lifting her like a baby. "Come right along, you po' little lamb-lady," she said. "Miss Jes'my done telephone for de doctah, an' I 's goin' make you comf'able in bed. Don' you cry 'nothah teah; Vi'let ain't goin' let nothin' come neah you." Utterly prostrated in mind and body, Mrs. Wyndham found comfort in the soft voice and loving arms. She drooped her head on the tall girl's pink gingham shoulder, and let herself be carried to her chamber as if she had been a child. Jessamy turned to Mr. Hurd. "You will not mind if we received the news rather badly?" "You dear child!" said the lawyer, his eyes dimming as he looked in the lovely face, blanched white, and noted the lines holding the soft lips grimly set to keep them from quivering. "You and Phyllis are little heroines. Don't try to be too brave; it is better to cry, and then wipe away the tears to see what is to be done after the shipwreck." "What are we likely to have to live on if we sell our things?" asked Jessamy, trying to thank him with a smile. "No one can say positively; it is guesswork. But your father knew good pictures, and I should say you might have an income of two thousand a year out of the net result of the sale. We won't go into that this morning. Good-by, my dears. Try not to worry. No one knows what is best for him in this curious world. People are usually better and stronger for trying their mettle, as well as their muscle. God bless you!" Jessamy did not attempt to answer. Mr. Hurd laid his hand gently on each head, and went away. Left to themselves, Jessamy and Phyllis looked at each other and around the pretty room still strewn with the samples of their dancing-gowns. With a sudden rush of memory they saw themselves little children playing around the kind father-father to both equally who had given them this home, and with equal clearness saw the years stretching out before them in which this home would have no being. The necessity for self-restraint was removed; with a common impulse they threw themselves in each other's arms, and burst into passionate weeping. Bab stirred uneasily on the floor where she had lain sobbing, dried her eyes, and said: Bab was mercurial; she had wept her first horror away, and now the necessity of her nature to look on the bright side asserted itself. "I think likely two thousand a year is a lot when you are used to it," she said. "I expect to learn to manage so well that we can adopt twins on the money left over from our expenses. I'll get points from Ruth Wells; she has learned contriving. Look up; smile. Rise, Sally, rise; dry your weeping eyes!'" "Don't, Bab; you have n't an idea of what has happened," said Jessamy, faintly, but at the same time she raised her head, checking her tears a little. Bab saw it with secret triumph. "Don't I I've as much experience as you, miss, anyway. Still, I'm willing to confess I 'd rather not be poor," she said, with the air of making a generous concession. "But we 'll be happy yet! It is rather hard to be thrown off your high wall, where you 've sat all your life. Poor HumptyDumpty! I never properly felt for him before!" And Bab was rewarded for her nonsense by a tearful smile from Jessamy and Phyllis. CHAPTER II. FRIENDS, COUNSELORS, AND PLANS. THE evening turned cool and damp, with the unreliability of May. Mrs. Wyndham, too ill to rise, slept, under sedatives, the sleep of utter exhaustion. The girls had taken refuge around the grate fire in Jessamy's beautiful room, with its fine pictures, and background of moss greens and browns. They were profoundly depressed, for on taking account of their stock of accomplishments they found that, though they were talented, they were untrained to practical labor, and that Jessamy's drawing, Bab's music, Phyllis's clever stories and verses, were all too amateurish to find a place in the marts. "I suppose there is n't much good in making plans," said Jessamy, gazing gloomily into the fire. "I think we should live quite poorly for a while, within our income, whatever it is, and fit ourselves to do something well. I don't want to rush into any kind of half-good employment, when by self-denial, hardship perhaps, at first, we might amount to something in the end." "Hail, Minerva!" cried Phyllis. "You'll be as thoroughbred a working-girl, if you must, as you were fine lady, and that 's what I love you for, Jasmine-blossom." "I saw My poor unfortunate children, are you sitting here in the dark?" cried a voice. that dreadful item in the Post'; is it true?" "How do you do, Aunt Henrietta?" said Jessamy, rising, while Bab barely stifled a groan. "About the failure? Yes, I'm afraid it's quite true." Mrs. Hewlett was Mr. Wyndham's aunt; he had been her favorite nephew because he bore her name. Her grand-nieces did not love her. She had a strong tendency to speak her opinions, provided they were unpleasant to the hearer, for she prided herself on her sincerity and infallibility of judgment. Jessamy, Phyllis, and Bab recognized in her coming an added hardship at the end of their hard day. "I always knew it would end this way," said Aunt Henrietta, dropping into an easy-chair and letting her cloak slip to the floor. "Your mother has no sort of business ability. Poor Henry! "Mama did not ruin the Iron Company, aunt, and papa can't need pity now as much as she does," said Bab, losing her temper instantly, as she always did on encountering her whom she disrespectfully called "the drum-major." "How are you left ?" demanded Aunt Henrietta, ignoring Bab, to Jessamy's profound gratitude. "We shall have only what the contents of this house will bring," said Jessamy. "We hope it may be two thousand a year." Aunt Henrietta held up both hands in genuine horror, crying: "Two thousand for such a family as you are! It is practically beggary. You have been brought up in the most extravagant way- never taught the value of money. Your mother spoiled you from the cradle. I suppose you will run through what little ready money you have, and then expect to be helped by your friends." nent," said the old lady, after a pause. "You'll be dependent on your friends' charity in six months, and you will be wise not to offend them." "I won't! I'll beg from door to door, or be a cash-girl first," Bab sobbed out. "Besides, I'm not impertinent; I'm only firm." The idea of Bab firm, on the verge of hysterics, made Jessamy and Phyllis smile faintly. "Better not say any more, Bab," Phyllis whispered, as she stroked the hot cheek, while Jessamy said: "You must not mind Bab, aunt. We all are more or less overwrought. But I agree with her that, if you please, we will leave our mother out of the discussion." "I don't mind that very flighty child; she never had a particle of stability, and she has had no training," said Aunt Henrietta, with what in a less dignified person would have been a sniff. "What work will you take up? For of course it is ridiculous to talk of living on two thousand a year; you must go to work." "We have not decided anything yet, aunt; we 've had only a few hours to get used to being poor," replied Phyllis. "I've been considering your case as I drove over, and I believe there's nothing you can do decently. Your education is the thistle-down "I am sure you are only fit for nursery governesses. I have a place which Phyllis can take, to teach French to some girls of her own age. The mother applied to me for a teacher. They are new-rich, but that is the one thing Phyllis can do. I shall not be able to help you further," said Aunt Henrietta. "We shall not need help," said Jessamy, her head up like a young racer. "Will you excuse us from more of this sort of talk, aunt? We have had a hard day." ously delicate in its offer of help that no better antidote to their great-aunt's trying peculiarities could have come to the poor girls, whose wounds were smarting as if salt had been dropped on them from Mrs. Hewlett's remarks. 66 'Dear, lovely, blessed Mrs. Van Alyn!" cried all three girls, sobbing on one another's shoulders after they had read the warm message; but this time their tears were of the sort which do good, and sent them to bed refreshed and comforted. In the morning Bab started off early to carry out her plan of consulting Ruth Wells. Ruth was a brisk little creature of Bab's own age, who had been the Wyndhams' schoolmate for a short time, but who, meeting with misfortune also, had dropped almost entirely out of their lives; only Bab, refusing to let her go, kept up a much interrupted friendship with her. Mrs. Hewlett rose; her eldest niece over- Ruth lived with her mother in a little flat awed her in spite of her determination not to apartment is too dignified a word- not far mind what she called "Jessamy's affected airs." from the Morningside Heights. She was skil"I felt sure I should not find you chastened ful with her needle, and earned by embroiderby misfortune," she said. "You should take ing enough to supplement sufficiently for their your downfall in a more Christian spirit. I needs an income hardly large enough to pay trust you will heed me in one point at least. their low rent. Bab had always wondered that Sell your best clothes and ornaments. It will she was so happy. To-day she resolved, if posbe most unbecoming if, in your altered circum- sible, to solve the secret of her content. stances, you dress as you did when you were Henry Wyndham's daughters. People will make the most unkind comments if you do." Barbara had recovered by this time. "Are n't we still Henry Wyndham's daughters, aunt?" she asked guilelessly. "I did n't realize parentage as well as inheritance was vested in the business. What a calamity it failed! As to unkind remarks, no mere acquaintance will make them; all but our relatives will understand that we could afford fine things when we had them, and that failure did not destroy them." "Bab, how can you?" said Jessamy, reproachfully, as Mrs. Hewlett disappeared. "There is no use in making her worse than she is." “I could n't, Lady Jessamy; nature is perfect in her works," said Bab, airily, holding out her hand for a letter Violet offered her. It was a note from a lifelong friend of her mother's, so loving, so considerate, so gener As she pressed the button under the speaking-tube over which the name "Wells" shone on a narrow strip of brass, the latch of the front door clicked, and pushing it open, Barbara mounted the three flights of stairs. Ruth herself opened the door at their head, and uttered an exclamation of surprise and pleasure at the sight of Bab. Oh, Babbie dear, does it affect you? " she cried at once. "I saw an account of the Wyndham Iron Works' failure in this morning's 'Times." "It affects us so much, Ruth, that I came here to get your advice. You 've had experience in coming down in the world. And I want to say," Bab went on, with heightened color," that I wish we all had been here oftener. We never realized how lonely you must have been at first." And Bab looked around the little parlor with new interest. easier to bear," said Ruth, brightly. "You 've always been a good friend, Bab. People who are poor are too busy to see much of those who have all their time on their hands. . It is n't possible to be intimate with people who live very differently from ourselves. But do tell me, is it as bad a failure as the paper had it?" While Ruth had talked she had gotten off Bab's outer garments, and now seated herself at her embroidery-frame, while Bab drew a chair in front of it, and shook her head. "Quite as bad; worse, in fact," she said, and proceeded to tell Ruth the whole story. "Now, what I want to know is whether four persons can possibly live on two thousand a year-supposing we have that - until we learn to be useful?" she asked in conclusion. "Of course," said Ruth, with cheerful decision. She did not seem to think the case very bad. Taking a pencil and paper from the table, she began to reckon. feel well; so if that happens I hardly know it. Mrs. Wells was bending over a double boiler on the gas-range. She looked sweet and well bred in her black gown, with a white apron shielding it, and held out a delicate hand to Bab, with no apology for her employment. Bab looked at the rooms with newly perceptive eyes. Everything was of the plainest, yet so refined and dainty it could but be pretty. She began to suspect there were many things in life to learn which would prove pleasant knowledge. But she wondered, coming from the "Do you think you could do your own work spacious Murray Hill rooms, how Ruth and her in a little flat?" she asked. "Mercy, no!" cried Bab, in horror. "Why, we 'd starve! We can't do anything. We "That's a pity, for cheap boarding is unwholesome, vulgar, and generally horrid," said Ruth. 66 However, if you must, you must. It won't last. Mama and I began that way, but we soon learned better. You can get two rooms, maybe, for seven dollars apiecetwenty-eight dollars a week. That 's-fiftytwo times fourteen hundred and fifty-six dol lars a year. "It will be bad, but you would be foolish to once. mother managed to move about in these without seriously damaging their anatomy. Ruth was so proud of it all, however, so unconscious of defects in her home, that Bab could envy her, though it was a meager box of a place, and Ruth worked hard to maintain it. "Thank you again, Ruth," she said, as her friend hugged her at the head of the stairs, letting the pity she dared not express show in the warmth of her embrace and the tears in her eyes as she kissed her. "I'm coming often, please, You 've shown me for advice and courage. CHAPTER III. WAYS AND MEANS. EVENTS moved swiftly for the Wyndhams. impelled by the force of necessity. Mr. Wyndham had been widely known for the value of his art treasures, and collectors came from dis"Well, I believe I 've a talent for poverty. It tant cities to bid for them as they hung on the has a good side," laughed Ruth. "I'm happy walls. "I'm happy walls. Everything else was to be sold by because I'm so busy I 've no time to imagine auction, and Mrs. Van Alyn, the kind friend troubles. I can't even stop to realize I don't whose loving letter had comforted the girls. |