e anywhere else for
always!" giving a little gasp at the very idea.

"I'm afraid that's what it's coming to," said Mr. Bright, sadly. "I
don't see any other way to fix it I've lost all my money, Eyebright.
It is no use trying to explain it to a child like you, but that is the
case. All I had is gone, nearly. There's scarcely any thing left,--not
enough to live on here, even if I owned this house, which I don't."

Not own their own house! This was incomprehensible. What could papa
mean?

"But, papa, it's _our_ house!" she ventured timidly.

Papa made no answer, only stroked her hair again softly.

"And the mill? Isn't the mill yours, papa?" she went on.

"No, dear, I never did own the mill. You were too little to understand
about the matter when I took up the business. It belongs to a company;
do you know what a 'company' means?--and the company has failed, so
that the mill is theirs no longer. It's going to be sold at auction
soon. I was only a manager, and of course I lose my place. But that
isn't so much matter. The real trouble is that I've lost my own
property, too. We're poor people now, Eyebright. I've been
calculating, and I think by selling off every thing here I can just
clear myself and come out honest but that's all. There'll be almost
nothing left."

"Couldn't you get another mill to manage?" asked Eyebright, in a
bewildered way.

"No, there is no other mill; and if there were, I shouldn't want to
take it. I'm too old to begin life over again in the place where I
started when I was a boy to work my way up. I _have_ worked,
too,--worked hard,--and now I come out in the end not worth a cent.
No, Eyebright, I couldn't do it!"

He set her down as he spoke, and began to walk the room with heavy,
unequal steps. The old floor creaked under his tread. There was
something very sad in the sound.

A child feels powerless in the presence of sudden misfortune.
Eyebright sat as if stunned, while her father walked to and fro.
Genevieve slipped from her lap and fell with a bump on the carpet, but
she paid no attention. Genevieve wasn't real to her just then; only a
doll. It was no matter whether she bumped her head or not.

Mr. Bright came back to his chair again.

"I'll tell you what I've been thinking of," he said. "I own a little
farm up in Maine. It's about the only thing I do own which hasn't got
a mortgage on it, or doesn't belong to some one else in one way or
another. It's a very small farm, but ther