IN LIVERPOOL.
NEXT day, Janet sent for a broker, and pointed out to him such articles of furniture as Fred had told her belonged to him. She was in the midst of making her bargain when, to her surprise, in came Mrs. Rayburn, who had not left her room for many days.
"Betty told me, my dear, that Mr. Pitman was here; so I guessed it was about your piano, and I crept in, for I may as well dispose of my few things at the same time."
And, turning to Mr. Pitman, she proceeded to point out what she claimed. It was not very much, but it was nearly all that Janet had been speaking about, and the poor girl reddened when she found Pitman looking doubtfully at her. She said—
"I did not know, grandma, that these things were yours. We thought they were ours."
"Oh, my dear, the things my kind husband bought for me? But say no more; I know you have always had them as your own, and it was stupid of me to—"
"No, no; I only spoke lest Mr. Pitman might think I had known it before."
The business was soon settled, and a van carried off all the Rayburns' share of the furniture. Very bare the parlour looked, and Fred cried for his "pitty cot," when laid to sleep in his mother's bed. Frank, old enough to be frightened at his mother's sad face, made no plaint about anything, but ran with messages and helped her with all his might.
Their few belongings were soon packed, and all, save one box, sent off to Liverpool by goods train. Janet paid up her household bills for the last week, and then everything was done. She had no one to say farewell to save Mrs. Rayburn; her own father and mother had died since her marriage, and her only brother had emigrated. Janet had always been a home-keeping woman, and had no very intimate friends.
"What shall you do, grandma?" she asked. "Where will you live till you hear of a place?"