ive and feel it, each in its own peculiar
way.

There are the great capitalists--the enormously rich--who, unless a
tremendous combination of adversities shall utterly ruin here and there
one, grow the richer yet for the calamities of their neighbors. There
are also the very poor, who have nothing to lose but their daily labor
and their daily bread--who may suffer and starve; but who, if by any
little saving of a better time they can manage just to buy bread, shall
be precisely where they were, practically, when the storm shall have
blown over. Between these lies the great middle class--among whom, as on
the middle ground, the world's great battle is continually waging--of
persons who are neither rich nor poor; who have neither secured
fortunes to fall back upon, nor yet the independence of their hands to
turn to, when business and its income fail. This is the class that
suffers most. Most keenly in apprehension, in mortification, in after
privation.

Of this class was the Gartney family.

Mr. Gartney was growing pale and thin. No wonder; with sleepless nights,
and harassed days, and forgotten, or unrelished meals. His wife watched
him and waited for him, and contrived special comforts for him, and
listened to his confidences.

Faith felt that there was a cloud upon the house, and knew that it had
to do with money. So she hid her own little wants as long as she could,
wore her old ribbons, mended last year's discarded gloves, and yearned
vaguely and helplessly to do something--some great thing if she only
could, that might remedy or help.

Once, she thought she would learn Stenography. She had heard somebody
speak one day of the great pay a lady shorthand writer had received at
Washington, for some Congressional reports. Why shouldn't she learn how
to do it, and if the terrible worst should ever come to the worst, make
known her secret resource, and earn enough for all the family?

Something like this--some "high and holy work of love"--she longed to
do. Longed almost--if she were once prepared and certain of herself--for
even misfortune that should justify and make practicable her generous
purpose.

She got an elementary book, and set to work, by herself. She toiled
wearily, every day, for nearly a month; despairing at every step, yet
persevering; for, beside the grand dream for the future, there was a
present fascination in the queer little scrawls and dots.

It cannot be known how long she might have gone o