"No, don't do that," exclaimed his wife quickly. "We must hold on to that. It's the only way we can make a living. I don't know anything except farming, and you don't either."
"That's right, unless I could learn gold mining," admitted Mr. Crosby with a sad smile. "But we'll get along somehow."
How he didn't know, but he knew he must not let his wife worry, as she was not strong, and had only recently gotten over a severe illness.
"Maybe I could help you, papa," spoke Nettie, who had listened with some worriment to the talk of her parents.
"You, my dear girl? How could you help us?"
"Why, I hear they want girls to work at the machines in the mill over at Rossmore."
"I'll never consent to let you go there," said her father. "We'll sell the farm first. Not that there's anything wrong about a girl working in a mill, but I want you to get a good education. No, Nettie, I'll find a way, somehow."
"Whoa!" exclaimed a voice out in the driveway, and, looking out, the farmer saw a man in a carriage.
"Are you there, Mr. Crosby?" the man called.
"Oh, yes! How d'ye do, Mr. Jimson?" replied the farmer, as he recognized the man who held the mortgage on the farm. "I see you've come for the interest."