"You have been good, Milly, just as good as you can be"—
"Pshaw, I'm nothing to what you are for goodness. We all have to feel the pinch of poverty together," said Mildred with some grandiloquence; "and in a place like Hyde Park it is easier to bear than it might be in some other places. All the old settlers know what father was, and that his honor wasn't lost when the money was. Everybody we really care for has been friendly to us since he died. Just think, it is nine years now, and we do manage to have some good times," finished the girl, quite heroically she thought, since there were such a number of joys that she yearned for and had to behold hopelessly in the possession of her more fortunate companions. "Come now," she added insistently, "you are still guilty of that washing and not a word said to excuse yourself."
"Milly,"—the older girl looked into her sister's eyes with an expression full of loving trouble,—"I hate to tell you, but Uncle Adolph's allowance hasn't come this month."
"It is a little late, that is all," said Mildred, but her face fell and her heart began to beat unpleasantly.
"No," very sadly, "he has written mother that it will not come any more. Fortunately I opened the letter as usual, and I have not shown it to mother. She thinks it is only delayed."
"But he owed the money to father," said Mildred vehemently. "It was not charity to us, it was a debt."
"Yes, but he simply says that on account of losses he will not be able to let us have any more money, and we cannot force him."
"Mr. Van Tassel could. Have you told him? He is so very kind to us."
"Yes, he is very kind; but there is nothing he could do about this."
"What shall we do?" asked Mildred blankly.