The Press., 1883-07-26
ning, very well, but want to. help some

1T think you do 8 great many things very well. said mamma, smiling over me. stYou have all the housekeeping and buy ing to do, and you're very busy little Dolly too"
 It made my cheeks feel quite hot to have mamma say such nice things, and then each of the others said something equally kind, so I had to go over and talk to papa to cool of. Tonight, he patted my hand, and said :-
 'sDorothy's child. Poor Dorothy !! she died quite young.''
 told him was Dorothy but he per sisted in calling me Dorothy's child, so then talked to him of something else. wasn't long after that, that Lisa walk ed into church one morning as Miss Brad ford, and came out as Mrs. William Gra- hame. Will lived in distant city so they went there, Ned going with them. Agnes found position as telegraph operator, so we were quite comfortably placed. She missed Lisa more than the rest of us did, but she kept steadily at work, and said lit | tie about 1t. Spring came early ; and soon it was so warm and pleasant papa could spend near ly the whole day out-of-doors, either on the river, or pottering about in our little garden, which he fancied was his sole charge. Bob got up with the sun, and kept the flowers in good order, and was so successful that our table was well supplied l with summer vegetables.
 "Another year." he said, "I'll raise enough to last through the winter, too :; and perhaps sell little. reckon shall be farmer. If only had little money to spend now on tools and seeds, I could get it back again next summer" | When Agnes had a vacation she went to visit Lisa the twins were never happy apart and while she was there Will got her better-paying office in that city.
 Oh, dear our family was dwindling down very fast. It seemed very lonesome without the girls, and now Bob announc- ed that fellow had given him job, so he should not go to school any more, and mamma, papa and I were alone all day.
 One day when Fred comes he says he IS out of work, as his employers had failed, but he is hopeful he may soon get into something else. He seeks day after day for an office, but only succeeds in getting some writing to do for a few days. He grows thin and haggard, but never gives up. One day mamma takes all our jewel ry, very little, for we never cared much for ornaments, and when she returns from the city she has few dollars which she hands over to me for the house, and some- thing for papa. Bob is discharged,- ''Hard times must reduce expenses, D his employer tells him and he and Top, his ever-faithful companion, join Fred in the weary search for work Sometimes one of them is fortunate enough to earn little money, but we must live, and everything is so dear. Coal, groceries, provisions, are very high, and they ought to have hearty, substantial food to strengthen them. Papa is confined to his bed by a low fever, and cries weakly if mamma leaves him even for moment.
 Oh, if I could only do something to help! But have to stay at home and wait. Sometimes I think waiting is the harder part. It seems as though things must take 8 turn soon, but it is not yet. The days grow darker for us, and one day I put all the food I can possibly secure on the table for breakfast, and there was noth- ing left when we had finished. All day long rack my brain for some way to pro- cure money, but in vain. There is 8 little flour in the barrel, and make some bis cults for mamma, and carry them upstairs. There are only enough for her dinner and supper. It is long, miserable day Top and lays down beside me. His big brown eyes look up at me as if asking why we are all so changed, and tell him all ou1 troubles as if he could understand me, and I think he does. long to see Fred and Bob, and yet dread to have them come, for know they will be cold and hungry, there is nothing to eat. My mind wan ders back to that subject again and again. I am young and strong, with healthy ap- petite that demands to be satisfied. For the last two days we have had nothing but dry bread, and am perfectly raven ous. I Iwonder how long it takes to starve to death.
 When Bob comes he demands in his loud boyish way :-
 Supper ready, Doll, I'm about starved. D
 70, Bob p I cry, 'sI'm so sorry, but there isn't morsel of anything to eat in the house."
 He gives long whistle.
 "That's bad And I'm awful hungry No better luck to-day, but perhaps Fred has. He'll be here soon. There was a fellow I know gave me handful of hot chestnuts this noon. Bully ones, too P
 Fred comes in, brushing the snow off his coat he looks so hopeless that ask no questions, but silently help him. Then he turns aud kisses ms.
 "Poor little Dolly,'' he says. "I have AO Ac"S TUT 5yOu MY uehu acuoS so, will go upstairs at once" We see no more of him that night. Bob, Top and I sit there in the cold moonlight, talking but little he speaks first.
 "Doll, were you ever hungry before ?'
 s'No, Bob." ....s.0 =.
 Its an awful feeling, isn'tit? I've tried my very best to get 8 job of some kind, but no one will give me a chance. I wish l had something to sell. I tried to get a boy to take my jack-knife, to-day, but he d only swap for an old fishing-rod not as good as the one I've got. What do you suppose we'll do if we don't get any mon eyY';; - .I don't know, Bob,' I reply dismally, and then I cry miserably for while. l hear Bob sniff, and I know he despises l cry babies, but feel so forlorn that I can not help it. We finally go off to bed. my younger brother bidding me not to cal him early.
 1 He sleeps late, and so does Fred. who appears with such white face that he frightens me. He has such blindine headache that he cannot sit up, so we persuade him to lie down on the lounge ir mothers room. I have absolutely nothing to do, so sit staring lazily out of. .the.win dow. l see Bob running down through the garden, whistling to Top, who is.iump ing about him and barking furiously | ST1I< <Inr, Il<l, cI< IL