"Why, is there any fear of our losing it?" asked David.
"Dear me, David, can we keep it on nothing at all? There's Grannie not earning sixpence, and there's me not earning sixpence; and how is the rent to be paid, and us all to be kept in food and things? It aint to be done—you might have the common sense to know that."
"To be sure I might," said David, his brow clouding. "After all, then, I don't suppose the five shillings is much help."
"Oh, yes, it will support you whatever happens, and that's a good deal. Don't fret, Dave; you are a right, good, manly fellow. You will fight your way in the world yet, and Grannie and me we'll be proud of you. I wish I had half the pluck you have; but there, I am so down now that nothing seems to come right. I wish I had had the sense to learn that feather-stitching that you do so beautifully."
David colored.
"I aint ashamed to say that I know it," he said. "I dare say I could teach it to you if you had a mind to learn it."
But Alison shook her head.
"No; it's too late now," she said. "It takes months and months of practice to make a stitch like that to come to look anything like right, and we want the money at once. We have got scarcely any left, and there's the rent due on Monday, and the little girls want new shoes—Kitty's feet were wringing wet when she came in to-day. Oh, yes, I don't see how we are to go on. But Grannie will tell us when she comes back. Oh, and here she is."
Alison flew to the door and opened it. Mrs. Reed, looking bright and excited, entered.
"Why, where are the little ones?" she said at once. "Aint they reading their books, like good children?"