"I gave you twenty-five dollars only day before yesterday," my father replied to this. "What have you done with that?"
"Spent it for gloves and laces," said Jane, in a light way, as if the sum were of the smallest possible consequence.
"I am not made of money, child." The tone of my father's voice struck me as unusually sober—almost sad. But Jane replied instantly, and with something of reproach and complaint in her tones—"I shouldn't think you were, if you find it so hard to part with a hundred dollars."
"I have a large payment to make to-day"—my father spoke with unusual decision of manner—"and shall need every dollar that I can raise."
"You gave sister a hundred dollars yesterday," said Jane, almost petulantly.
Not a word of reply did my father make. I was looking at him, and saw an expression on his countenance that was new to me—an expression of pain, mingled with fear. He turned away slowly, and in silence left the house.
"Jane," said my mother, addressing her from the stairway, on which she had been standing, "how could you speak so to your father?"
"I have just as good right to a hundred dollar shawl as Anna," replied my sister, in a very undutiful tone. "And what is more, Im going to have one."
"What reason did your father give for refusing your request to-day?" asked my mother.
"Couldn't spare the money! Had a large payment to make! Only an excuse!"