It was a grave little trio that gathered about the supper table that night.
Latterly they had been getting along comfortably, but now destitution and want again stared them in the face, and must inevitably take up quarters in the household, unless some one obtained work of some kind to bring in some money.
Mat was up and away early the next morning, and for many mornings thereafter, but although he honestly searched all day long for employment, none was to be found.
And Helen, too, sought for work, but failed to find it, and day by day their slender stock of money diminished, until at last they had eaten the last meal, and had no money wherewith to buy another.
That evening Helen left the house and was gone for a short while, and when she came back she did not say where she had been.
But she had gone with her shawl to a pawn-shop, and hid away in her dress was the pittance which had been loaned on it.
In the morning she stole out unheard, not long after daylight, and invested her capital in newspapers.
Her cheeks were flushed with shame as she stood on the street, offering her papers for sale. But she fought back her pride. They had been very kind to her, and she should be only too glad, she told herself, to make the sacrifice for their dear sakes.
And how happy she was when she hastened to their home, and put her morning's earnings into the hand of Mrs. Morris.
In vain Mat protested against Helen's selling papers. Let him do it, he said.