"Milly," Debby said, in a mournful tone, "I've been thinking we must part with something. Your mother's sinking for what we've no money to pay for. I've seen you all in better days, lovey, and I'm as fond of everything in the house as you are, but I see no way out of it. In fact, I saw a man to-day—he's only waiting for your word—and he'll look over the things in the parlor to-morrow."
A lump rose and filled Milly's throat. Oh, if she were not burdened with this miserable private debt, how easy it would seem even to ask a loan from old Mr. Hardman! But no, the home necessities were by no means all.
"Yes, yes, Debby," exclaimed Mildred, with a sudden rush of tears; "it must be done—it must be done."
When Milly returned the next evening from the store, the once cozy parlor looked desolate enough. The heavy furniture was nearly all gone, and the children clustered about her with an eager account of the man who had carried the sofa and chairs and best table away in his cart.
"Never mind," said Mildred, trying to be cheerful. "We must sit in the dining-room. Besides, dears, think how ill mamma is."
"Only forty dollars," whispered Deborah, "and I've paid out thirty of it."
So she could not even borrow part of that sum for her debt. Milly turned away, and went into her mother's room, feeling faint, heart and body, and there tried to find some consolation in reading aloud their usual evening chapter; but all the time a sense of her own folly oppressed her. Suffering from necessity she could have borne, but not that which her own sin had brought upon her.
Poor Mildred! she knelt at her mother's side, humbly praying, almost aloud. On the next day she knew she must "settle" with the dreaded Widow Robbins.