"Why, why, what shall we do?"
"Well, we can sell the house, I suppose."
"Sell the house!" said poor little Mrs. Betsey, aghast at the thought; "and where could we go? and what should we do with all our things? I'd rather die, and done with it; and if we got any money and put it into anything, people would just take it and use it, and not pay us income; or else it would all go just as my money did that Dick put into that Aurora bank. That was going to make our everlasting fortune. There was no end to the talk about what it would do—and all of a sudden the bank burst up, and my money was all gone—never gave me back a cent! and I should like to know where it went to. Somebody had that ten thousand dollars of mine, but it wasn't me. No, we won't sell the house; it's all we've got left, and as long as it's here we've got a right to be somewhere. We can stay here and starve, I suppose!—you and I and Jack."
Jack, perceiving by his mistress's tones that something was the matter, here jumped into her lap and kissed her.
"Yes, you poor doggie," said Mrs. Betsey, crying; "we'll all starve together. How much money have you got left, Dorcas?"
Miss Dorcas drew out an old porte-monnaie and opened it.
"Twenty dollars."
"Oh, go 'way, Miss Dorcas; ye don't know what a lot I's got stowed away in my old tea-pot!" chuckled a voice from behind the scenes, and Dinah's woolly head and brilliant ivories appeared at the slide of the china-closet, where she had been an unabashed and interested listener to the conversation.
"Dinah, I'm surprised," said Miss Dorcas, with dignity.