"The furniture is thine," observed Patience. "Thee might let two or three of thy rooms, so as to cover the rent."
"I have thought all that over and over again to myself," sighed Jane. "But, Patience—allowing that the rent were made in that way—how are we to live?"
"Thee must occupy thy time in some way. Thee can sew! Dost thee know dress-making?"
"No—only sufficient of it to make my own plain gowns and Jane's frocks. As to plain sewing, I could never earn food at it—it is so badly paid. And there will be the education of my boys, and their clothing."
"Thee hast anxiety before thee—I see it," said Patience, in a grave tone. "Still, I would not have thee be cast down. Thee will make thyself ill, and that will not be the way to mend thy condition."
Jane sat down, her hands clasped on her knees, her mind viewing her dark troubles. "If I were but clear, I should have better hope," she said, lifting her face in its sad sorrow. "Patience, we owe half a year's rent; and there will be the funeral expenses besides."
"Hast thee no kindred that would aid thee in thy strait?"
Jane shook her head. The only "kindred" she possessed in the whole world was one who had barely enough for his own poor wants—her brother Francis.
"Hast thee no little property to dispose of?" continued Patience. "Watches, or things of that kind?"
There was her husband's watch. But Jane's pale face crimsoned at the idea of parting with it in that manner. It was a good watch, and had long ago been promised to William.