“I don't feel the wings sprouting yet, Nancy,” he said, in his dry way.
“I hope not, yet!” exclaimed the girl. “I'd have to have a new winter coat if you did, and I know we can't afford that just now.”
“You never said a truer word, Nan,” replied Mr. Sherwood, his voice dropping to a less cheerful level, as he went away to change his coat and light the hanging lamp in the dining room where the supper table was already set.
Mother and daughter looked at each other rather ruefully.
“Oh, dear me!” whispered Nan. “I never do open my mouth but I put my foot in it!”
“Goodness!” returned her mother, much amused. “That is an acrobatic feat that I never believed you capable of, honey.”
“We-ell! I reminded Papa Sherwood of our hard luck instead of being bright and cheerful like you.”
“We will give him a nice supper, honey, and make him forget his troubles. Time enough to call to order the ways and means committee afterward.” Her husband came back into the kitchen as Nan finished arranging the hair. “Come, Papa Sherwood!” cried the little lady. “Hot biscuit; the last of the honey; sweet pickles; sliced cold ham; and a beautiful big plum cake that our Nan made this morning before school time, her own self. You MUST smile at all those dainties.”
And the husband and father smiled. They all made an effort to help each other. But they knew that with the loss of his work would doubtless come the loss of the home. During the years that had elapsed, Mr. Sherwood had paid in part for the cottage; but now the property was deteriorating instead of advancing in value. He could not increase the mortgage upon it. Prompt payment of interest half-yearly was demanded. And how could he meet these payments, not counting living expenses, when his income was entirely cut off?
Mr. Sherwood was forty-five years old, an age at which it is difficult for a man to take up a new trade, or to obtain new employment at his old one.