of his daughters more than any other trouble--indeed, more
than all the others in combination.

Their home was ruined--but, somehow, they would manage to find a shelter.
'Phemie would have no more work in her present position after this week,
and Lyddy had secured no work at all; but fortune must smile upon their
efforts and bring them work in time.

These obstacles seemed small indeed beside the awful thought of their
father's illness. How very, very weak and ill he had looked when he was
carried out of the flat on that stretcher! The girls clung together in
their bed in the lodging house, and whispered about it, far into the night.

"Suppose he never comes out of that hospital?" suggested 'Phemie, in a
trembling voice.

"Oh, 'Phemie! don't!" begged her sister. "He _can't_ be so ill as all
that. It's just a breakdown, as that doctor said. He has overworked.
He--he mustn't ever go back to that hat shop again."

"I know," breathed 'Phemie; "but what _will_ he do?"

"It isn't up to him to do anything--it's up to _us_," declared Lyddy,
with some measure of her confidence returning. "Why, look at us! Two big,
healthy girls, with four capable hands and the average amount of brains.

"I know, as city workers, we are arrant failures," she continued, in a
whisper, for their room was right next to Aunt Jane's, and the partition
was thin.

"Do you suppose we could do better in the country?" asked 'Phemie, slowly.

"And if I am not mistaken the house is full of old, fine furniture,"
observed Lyddy.

"Well!" sighed the younger sister, "we'd be sheltered, anyway. But how
about eating? Lyddy! I have _such_ an appetite."

"She says we can have her share of the crops if we will pay the taxes and
make the necessary repairs."

"Crops! what do you suppose is growing in those fields at this time of
the year?"

"Nothing much. But if we could get out there early we might have a garden
and see to it that Mr. Pritchett planted a proper crop. And we could have
chickens--I'd love that," said Lyddy.

"Oh, goodness, gracious me! Wouldn't we _all_ love it--father, too? But
how can we even get out there, much more live till vegetables and chickens
are ripe, on nothing a week?"

"That--is--what--I--don't--see--yet," admitted Lyddy, slowly.

"It's very kind of Aunt Jane," complained 'Phemie. "But it's just like
opening the door of Heaven to a person who has no wings! We can't even
reach Hillcrest."

"You and I could," said her si