He hesitated, and a big tear rolled down his furrowed cheek.
"We are what, Jacob?"
"We are going to the poorhouse!"
"O God! I thought so!" fell from the poor wife's lips, as she covered her face with her hands. "I have thought so, and I have tried to school myself to the thought; but my poor heart will not bear it!"
"Do not give up," softly urged the old man, laying his hand upon her arm. "It makes but little difference to us now. We have not long to remain on earth, and let us not wear out our last days in useless repinings. Come, come."
"But when—when—shall we go?"
"Now—to-day."
"Then God have mercy on us!"
"He will," murmured Jacob.
That old couple sat for a while in silence. When they were aroused from their painful thoughts it was by the stopping of a wagon in front of the door. A man entered the room where they sat. He was the keeper of the poorhouse.