dollar, too, mother. I'm to keep it till I tell a lie."

"Which I hope will never happen, dear. But did you thank our good, generous friends? I have no words to express my gratitude."

"Never mind for words, Mrs. Talbot. Good-night."

CHAPTER IV.

"They would all freeze and starve," she told the people where she went begging. "I want to get something to save their lives; and then, when she is comfortable, the woman can earn enough to support her family."

In two weeks you would never have known the room; the glass was mended, and now the sun shone in. There was a pretty, old-fashioned bedstead, four nicely painted chairs, a table with leaves, a tiny mirror, a patch spread, and the cunningest little cooking-stove, which kept the room beautifully warm. At least, Johnny thought so when he came dancing home from his work.

Besides all this, Mrs. Miles had procured from an old lady some healing syrup, which had nearly cured the troublesome cough; and Mrs. Talbot could sew now very well, without that terrible pain in her side.

She told her dear friend one day, that if she could only forget her past trouble, she should be quite happy,—happier than she had ever expected to be again.

"You must tell me about your troubles," Mrs. Miles said. And one afternoon, when Johnny was at work in the factory, and Ella was taking her nap, Mrs. Talbot began,—

"I was married when I was only seventeen, and went with my husband to the western part of New York State. He was a carpenter, and could get good wages, which supported us in great comfort. Johnny was almost seven years old when Dexter, that is, my husband, told me he wanted to bring home one of his workmen to live with us. The man had no home, and, as he did not think it right to spend his evenings in a tavern, he was very lonely. His name was Robert Hardy, and he gave very little trouble. He grew to be fond of Johnny, and spent many leisure hours in amusing him and making him playthings.

"But one day he came home sick; and for two weeks he never left his bed. Dexter and I took all the care of him. When he grew better, he went away to his mother. He sat by the fire thinking. I expected he would thank us; but he did not. He held Dexter's hand like a vise; and he tried to say good-by to me; but his voice failed. I have never seen him since. I feel sure he was grateful. The doctor had told him our care saved his life.

"The very night he left, Dexter grew delirious; he had stayed at home with a cold for a week. The doctor came again, and said he had taken the fever.

"Oh, those were dreadful days! He grew worse and worse, and I—it breaks my heart when I think that I had nursed a stranger, and couldn't nurse my own husband—I was lying on a bed in the same room; and my little Ella lay beside