Father, mother, children—what can she do for them all? Last night she had no answer to that question, but now a bright, a daring hope has flashed into her mind. Why shouldn't she collect Mr. Duncan's rents, and keep his accounts whilst father is laid by? She wanted to go out to work for herself. Here is the chance of doing something much better, of working for father's sake, of lifting a great part of this heavy load from his heart!
But can she do it—can she? Her heart sinks again. "Oh, will Mr. Duncan give me a trial?" Suddenly she remembers Grannie. "How sorry Grannie will be for this—Oh, if I were like Grannie how much easier it would be! Let me think, if Grannie was in my place, what would she do first?"
The answer to that question is easy enough. "She would pray."
Betty kneels by the bedside. She prays for her father, and then she prays for herself; prays that she may have strength given her, and wisdom, and courage, to do her work bravely and well.
Mother is quite unfit for anything this morning. Lucy must give up her music-lesson to wait on her. The children are very fretful. Clara declares she is "too much upset to do her usual work, and it ought not to be expected of her."
Only Betty is patient and gentle, striving to get through the usual duties. Love is leading her at last—love for her father. Just now no thought of self dims her memory of his suffering face.
But for all that her heart beats very fast, when at last she knocks at Mr. Duncan's door, and her grand plan of carrying on a part of dear father's work suddenly appears quite hopeless.
"I'm afraid it will make Mr. Duncan quite angry to propose such a thing. Had not I better just give him the money father collected, and say nothing about my idea after all?" Betty hesitates a moment, then—
"For father's sake—for father's sake," she murmurs to herself.
The door is opened by a neat maid. Yes, Mr. Duncan is at home, will she please to give her name? Another minute and she is shown into a room, where an elderly gentleman is writing at a table.