“My dear,” said Mrs. Hallock, kissing the pretty face close to her own, “what should you say if your papa thought it best to sell Neptune?”
“Sell my Neptune, mamma!” ejaculated Kate, with a gasp. “I should say that I would rather live on bread and water all the rest of my life—mortal existence they call it in church, don’t they, mamma?” with a miserable little attempt at a laugh.
Kate began dimly to discern that the trouble she had felt related to money matters, and if economy could save Neptune, economy she was ready to practice to the utmost.
“If you had to choose, Kate, between Frank’s going to school and keeping your pony?”
“If I were Frank,” said Kate, “I should go to work and help papa instead of going to school. But, mamma, tell me all about it. I thought papa was rich. We live like rich folks, I am sure, and I don’t think we ought to make any pretence about anything. Grandma Dobson doesn’t, and I shouldn’t wonder one bit if that is just the reason that her poor brown house always seems so pleasant. Has papa lost much money?”
“Yes, my dear. Your papa may have to give up our pleasant home here; but we hope to keep it.”
Kate began to look very sorrowful.
“Then, mamma, why send Frank to school at all?” she questioned. “It will cost ever so much money.”
“We have decided that it is best to do so, hoping that Frank may become all that we wish him to be.”
“Yes,” said Kate, “it will be nice, some day, to have a president or a governor for a brother. I’ll do without new dresses this winter, and squeeze into my last winter’s cloak and shorten up my arms some way to fit the sleeves. You remember they got pretty short before the winter was over; and I’ll—let me see—what can I do? I’ll do anything in the wide world to keep Neptune. Why, mamma, I’d just as soon think of selling Frank or you! I’ll manage to feed him without costing papa one cent. There’s lots of salt grass that nobody ever thinks of cutting, and then there’s the pieces of bread that are always left.”