h air. They had no door-bell, so no guest was ever left waiting
in the cold. And though they had no speaking-tubes in the house, still
they found no difficulty in calling each other if Ethan were up stairs
and Alice wanted him to come down.

Their father was buried, and the children were left alone. The first
night after the funeral they stole to their beds as soon as they could,
after the mock supper was over. The next morning George and Fanny found
themselves the first to meet at the kitchen hearth. Each had tried to
anticipate the other in making the morning fire. Each confessed to the
other that there had been but little sleep, and that the night had
seemed hopelessly long.

"But I have thought it all over," said the brave, stout boy. "Father
told us to stick together as long as we can. And I know I can manage it.
The children will all do their best when they understand it. And I
know, though father could not believe it, I know that I can manage with
the team. We will never get in debt. I shall never drink. Drink and
debt, as he used to say, are the only two devils. Never you cry, darling
Fanny, I know we can get along."

"George," said Fanny, "I know we can get along if you say so. I know it
will be very hard upon you. There are so many things the other young men
do which you will not be able to do; and so many things which they have
which you might have. But none of them has a sister who loves them as I
love you. And, as he said, 'Love is the whole.'"

I suppose those words over the hearth were almost the only words of
sentiment which ever passed between those two about their plans. But
from that moment those plans went forward more perfectly than if they
had been talked over at every turn, and amended every day. That is the
way with all true stories of hearth and home.

For instance, it was only that evening, when the day's work of all the
six was done--and for boys and girls, it was hard work, too--Fanny and
George would have been glad enough, both of them, to take each a book,
and have the comfort of resting and reading. But George saw that the
younger girls looked down-cast and heavy, and that the boys were
whispering round the door-steps as if they wanted to go down to the
blacksmith's shop by way of getting away from the sadness of the house.
He hated to have them begin the habit of loafing there, with all the
lazy boys and men from three miles round. And so he laid down his book,
and said, as cheerily