“Yes, I know you have,” interposed Sarah Ellen eagerly; “and I said so to Maria. But mother had already told her that, it seems. She said that mother said you were always glad to give it to them when they asked for it, but that it hurt father’s pride to beg, so he’d gone to work to earn some of his own.”
“Father!” exclaimed William. “But I thought you said ’twas mother. Surely father isn’t knitting socks and mittens, is he?”
“No, no,” cried Sarah Ellen. “I’m coming to that as fast as I can. You see, ’twas father who went to work first. He’s been doing all sorts of little odd jobs, even to staying with the Snow children while their folks went to town, and spading up Nancy Howe’s flower beds for her. But it’s been wearing on him, and he was getting all tired out. Only think of it, William--working out--father and mother! I just can’t ever hold up my head again! What shall we do?”
“Do? Why, we’ll stop it, of course,” declared William savagely. “I guess I can support my own father and mother without their working for a living!”
“But it’s money, William, that they want. Don’t you see?”
“Well, we’ll give them money, then. I always have, anyway,--when they asked for it,” finished William in an aggrieved voice.
Sarah Ellen shook her head.
“It won’t do,” she sighed. “It might have done once--but not now. They’ve got to the point where they just can’t accept money doled out to them like that. Why, just think, ’t was all theirs once!”
“Well, ’tis now--in a way.”
“I know--but we haven’t acted as if it were. I can see that now, when it’s too late.”