What was to be done?
The mother and daughter wept in secret. Their careers had been interrupted. Desolation was out-of-doors, and desolation was in their hearts. The earth lay in ragged heaps; beams and timbers leaned half erect; barns were party-colored with the old paint and the new, and the shrubbery was bare to the frosts. Joys which had smiled had fled into the far distance, and now looked surly enough; all pleasures were unhorsed, and hope was down.
It was under these circumstances that Fields wrote a second time to the honorable board of directors to ask them to pay him better wages.
Friday came. There was a meeting, and Fields knew that his case must now be receiving consideration.
At eleven o'clock the directors emerged from their parlor, and passed by his desk in twos and threes, chatting and telling watery jokes, as most great men do.
"They look as if they had entirely forgotten me," said Fields to himself.
Pretty soon the cashier came and placed a letter upon his counter.
"Ah!" thought the teller, "I was mistaken. I wonder if I can read it here without changing countenance?"
He could but try it. He tore off the envelope. It went thus:
"Mr.----Fields, Paying Teller.