Eleven years had rolled by since the Christmas night on which our story opens. Lizzie had not belied the promise of her girlhood, but had developed into a radiantly beautiful girl. Already her hand had been sought in marriage; but, as yet, she had seen no one on whom she could look with that affection without which marriage would be a mockery.
Charlie and Harry, too,—eleven years had changed them not a little. The boys of four and six had become fine, manly youths of fifteen and seventeen. The eldest had entered college. Harry, however, who was by no means studious, had entered his father’s counting-room.
That was a sorrowful night on which Mr. Dinsmoor made known to his afflicted wife the bankruptcy which was inevitable. Still sadder, if possible, was the sale which it enforced of the house which they had so long occupied, the furniture which had become endeared to them by memory and association, and the harsh interruption which loss of fortune put to all their treasured schemes.
“My poor boy,” said Mrs. Dinsmoor, sorrowfully, as she placed her hand caressingly on the brown locks of Charlie, the eldest of the two boys, “it will be a hard sacrifice for you to leave the studies to which you are so much attached, and enter a store, as you will be obliged to do.”
“Ah! I had not thought of that,” murmured Charlie. “It will, indeed, be a sacrifice; but, mother, I would not care for that, if you could only be spared the trials to which you will be exposed from poverty.”
“Thank you for your consideration, my child; but do not fear that I shall not accommodate myself to it. It is a heavy trial; but we must try to think that it will ultimately eventuate in our good.”
At the auction of Mr. Dinsmoor’s house and furniture, the whole property, without exception, was knocked off to a young man, who seemed apparently of twenty-two or three years of age. He was able to secure it at a price much beneath its real value; for times were hard, and money scarce, so that he had but few competitors. Mr. Dinsmoor did not hear his name, and the pressure of sad thoughts prevented his making the inquiry.
Possession was to be given in one week. Meanwhile, Mr. Dinsmoor sought out a small house in an obscure part of the town, which, in point of elegance and convenience, formed a complete contrast to the one he had formerly occupied. He felt, however, that it would be all his scanty salary as clerk—for he had secured a situation in that capacity—would enable him to afford.
Lizzie looked, with a rueful face, at the piano, as a dear friend from whom she must henceforth be separated, it being quite too costly a piece of furniture to be retained in their reduced circumstances. Her proficiency in music, for which she had great taste, made her regret it doubly, since she might with it have added to the resources of the family by giving music lessons.