A pittance owed to her
for work had not been paid. The little food left in the house had
furnished the children an unsatisfying breakfast; she had eaten
nothing. On the table beside her lay a note from the agent of the
estate of which her home was a part, bidding her call that
morning. She knew why--the rent was two months in arrears. It
seemed like death to leave the house in which her husband had
placed her, and wherein she had spent her happiest days. It stood
well away from the crowded town. The little yard and garden, with
their trees, vines, and shrubbery, some of which her husband had
planted, were all dear from association. In the rear there was a
grove and open fields, which, though not belonging to the cottage,
were not forbidden to the children; and they formed a wonderland
of delight in spring, summer, and fall. Must she take her active,
restless boy Jamie, the image of his father, into a crowded
tenement? Must golden-haired Susie, with her dower of beauty, be
imprisoned in one close room, or else be exposed to the evil of
corrupt association just beyond the threshold?
Moreover, her retired home had become a refuge.
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