"Heaven forbid we'd ever turn you out, Miss Gipsy, after all you've done for us!" said the woman; "but after to-night we'll no longer have a roof to shelter us."
"You won't, eh? Do you intend to set fire to this old shanty, and burn it down?" inquired Gipsy.
"No, no; but Dr. Wiseman was here for his rent (this is pay-day, you know), and we haven't a cent in the house to give him. Mr. Brown's been sick mostly all summer, and all we could make it took to feed the children. And now Dr. Wiseman says he'll turn us out, to starve or beg, to-morrow," replied the woman through her tears.
"The old sinner!" exclaimed Gipsy, through her hard-closed teeth. "Did you ask him to give you time to pay?"
"Yes, I went on my knees, and begged him to spare us for a few months, and we would pay him every cent; but he wouldn't. He said he would give us until to-morrow morning, and if we didn't have it then, out we must go."
For a moment Gipsy was silent, compressing her lips to keep down her fiery wrath, while the woman wept more passionately than ever.
"Have his other tenants paid him?" inquired Gipsy, at length.
"Yes, all but us."
"When did he start for home?"
"Not five minutes ago?"