ore than she herself
could earn in three months.

"If I could get somebody to lend me a little money, Mother," she
continued, "I might--"

The girl stopped and stole a look at her mother sitting hunched up in
her chair, her elbows on her knees, the chin resting on the palms of
her hands, the angle of her thin shoulders outlined through the coarse,
worsted shawl--always a pathetic attitude to the daughter:--this
old mother broken with hard work and dulled by a life of continued
disappointment.

"I was saying, Mother, perhaps I might get somebody to lend me a little
money, and then--"

The figure straightened up. "Don't do it, child!" There was a note
almost of terror in her voice. "Don't you ever do it! That was what
ruined my father. Abbie--promise me--promise me, I say! You won't--you
can't."

The girl laid her hand tenderly on her mother's shoulder.'

"Why, Mother, dear--why, what's the matter? You look as if you had seen
a ghost."

Mrs. Todd drew her shawl closer about her shoulders and leaned nearer to
the girl, her voice trembling:

"It's worse than a ghost, child--it's a _debt!_ Debt along of money you
never worked for; money somebody gives you sort o' friendly-like, and
when you can't pay it back, they bite you, like dogs. No--let's sit here
and starve first, child. We can shut the door and nobody 'll know we're
hungry." She straightened up and threw the shawl from her shoulders.
Terror had taken the place of an undefined dread.

"You ain't gettin' discouraged, Abbie, be you?" she continued in a
calmer tone. "Don't get discouraged, child. I got discouraged when I
was younger than you, and I ain't never been happy since. You never knew
why, and I ain't goin' to tell you now, but it's been black night all
these years--all 'cept you. You've been the only thing made me live. If
you get discouraged, child, I can't stand it. Say you ain't, Abbie--let
me hear you say it--please Abbie!"

The girl rose from her chair and stood looking down at her mother. The
sudden outburst, so unusual in one so self-restrained, the unmistakable
suffering in the tones of her voice, thrilled and alarmed her. Her first
impulse was to throw her arms about her mother's neck and weep with her.
This had been her usual custom when the load seemed too heavy for her
mother to bear. Then the more practical side of her nature asserted
itself. It was strength, not sympathy, she wanted. Slipping her hand
under her mother's arm, she raise