“Why, dear, I tell you he seemed just the same. He almost always lies down when he comes home now. You know that.”
“Forgive me, Lyddy!” exclaimed ’Phemie, contritely. “Of course you are just as careful of father as you can be. But–but it’s so awful to see him lie like this.”
“He fainted without my knowing a thing about it,” moaned Lyddy.
“Oh! if it’s only just a faint—”
“He couldn’t even have heard the noise upstairs over the fire.”
Just then a stream of water descended through the cracked bedroom ceiling, first upon the back of ’Phemie’s neck, and then upon the drugget which covered the floor.
“Suppose this ceiling falls, too?” wailed Lyddy, wringing her hands.
“I hope not! And we’ll have to pay the doctor when he comes, Lyd. Have you got money enough in your purse?”
“I’ll not have any more after this week,” broke out ’Phemie, suddenly. “They told me to-day the rush for Easter would be over Saturday night and they would have to let me go till next season. Isn’t that mean?”