The faithful hands that had toiled for them, the loving heart that had shielded them, these, alas! were no more, and grim poverty stalked into the little cottage now, a guest they could not thrust away.
The carpenter had worked faithfully all his life, but his meager savings had all been swept away by the failure of a savings bank to which he had trusted them. During the last two years of financial panic and stress he had been much out of work, and lately he had just caught up with the rents again, and given his wife and Floy their simple spring outfits.
There was nothing, nothing for them to look to but the labor of their hands. Poor Floy did not know how to do anything useful, they had spoiled and petted her so, and Mrs. Banks, who did plain sewing for the neighbors sometimes, knew that all her profits would not pay the cottage rent.
When the funeral expenses had been paid out of the money for her husband’s last job, there remained to the poor woman only the simple furniture of the tiny cottage and five dollars in her purse.
“What are we to do?” she sobbed, pitifully.
It was then that Maybelle Maury came to the rescue.
“Mamma will employ you in her house as a seamstress; and papa will give Floy a place as salesgirl,” said the dark-eyed beauty, cheerfully.
“Oh, I can not be parted from my child!” exclaimed the unhappy widow, tearfully.
Maybelle curled an imperious lip, and answered:
“That is nonsense! You can not keep Floy with you now. She will have to earn her living like other poor girls!”