ee."

"Ah, I'm glad," said Tom, maliciously. "Won't that upstart's pride be
taken down? He was too proud to go to the poorhouse, where he belonged,
but he can't help his sister's going there. If he isn't a pauper
himself, he'll be the brother of a pauper, and that's the next thing to
it."

"That is true," said the deacon. "He was very impudent in return for my
kindness. Still, I am sorry for him."

I am afraid the deacon's sorrow was not very deep, for he certainly
looked unusually cheerful when he harnessed up his horse and drove
around to the temporary home of the Pomeroys.

"Good-morning, Mr. Pomeroy," he said, seeing the latter in the yard.
"You've met with a severe loss."

"Yes, deacon; it is a severe loss to a poor man like me."

"To be sure. Well, I've called around to relieve you of a part of your
cares. I am going to take Grace Fowler to the poorhouse."

"Couldn't you get her a place with a private family to help about the
house in return for her board, while she goes to school?"

"There's nobody wants a young girl like her," said the deacon.

"Her brother would pay part of her board--that is, when he has a place."

"Hasn't he got a place?" asked the deacon, pricking up his ears. "I
heard he was in a store in New York."

"He lost his place," said Mr. Pomeroy, reluctantly, "partly because of
the dullness of general trade."

"Then he can't maintain his sister. She will have to go to the
poorhouse. Will you ask her to get ready, and I'll take her right over
to the poorhouse."

There was no alternative. Mr. Pomeroy went into the house, and broke the
sad news to his wife and Grace.

"Never mind," she said, with attempted cheerfulness, though her lips
quivered, "I shan't have to stay there long. Frank will be sure to send
for me very shortly."

"It's too bad, Grace," said Sam, looking red about the eyes; "it's too
bad that you should have to go to the poorhouse."

"Come and see me, Sam," said Grace.

"Yes, I will, Grace. I'll come often, too. You shan't stay there long."

"Good-by," said Grace, faltering. "You have all been very kind to me."

"Good-by, my dear child," said Mrs. Pomeroy.

"Who knows but you can return to us when the new house is done?"

So poor Grace went out from her pleasant home to find the deacon,
grim-faced and stern, waiting for her.

"Jump in, little girl," he said. "You've kept me waiting for you a long
time, and my time is valuable."

The distance to the poorhouse