Aunt Sophia, however, knew nothing of the matter. It was yet undivulged to the public. Mr. Kyle's arrangements lingered. Meanwhile the cloud that was to darken all their sky gathered and grew, though none suspected it.

"Well, dear?" she said, putting down her work, and seating herself on the edge of the couch beside him.

"If this goes on-and there seems no prospect of a change—I am afraid we must give up all hope of the cashiership."

"I have thought of that, too," she answered. Both were silent a while. The evil grew nearer, more real, now that they had brought themselves to speak of it. Milly was the first to recover courage.

over.

The physician's verdict was not encouraging. He listened to Frank's description of the case, and after a few ordinary questions inquired if there had been any blow-any injury to the head. Frank knew of none-unless, indeed, that accident last winter. He had been thrown from a sleigh, striking his head against the pavement; had been stunned for a few seconds, and experienced some sharp pain. But this had passed off in a day or two, and he had hardly thought of it since, though he now recalled that there was an occasional tenderness about the spot.

There lay the trouble, Dr. Gray asserted. He could give little hope of cure. The malady might wear out in time, perhaps; for the present, local applications might relieve the acuteness of the pain. He recommended one or two which had proved beneficial in similar cases.

"It would be well," he said, "if you could make a change of business; get some occupation that would keep you a good deal in the open air, and not tax your mind as much."

"That," returned Frank, "is simply impossible." He went home a good deal discouraged, yet hardly apprehending the gravity of the case. Local applications! In a great bank like theirs, with business surging, crowding through all its hours, how was he to find the time? Then the look of the thing! A teller's desk was no place for a fussy invalid. It would never do. must just stand it as well as he could. And he would not tell Milly what the doctor said; it would only worry her, and do no good.

He

Nevertheless, before bedtime she knew all about it. Happily she was not one of those women to whom it will only do to bring good tidings. She comforted Frank as well as she was able, but certain sad forebodings crept into her mind.

There was reason for them. Several times during the next month he came home in the middle of the day, exhausted, worn-out with the pain he had endured.

"Milly," he said one evening as he lay on

"After all, Frank," she said, cheerfully, "we shall be no worse off than we were before." "Yes, we are," he answered. "We are poorby the loss of so much hope." "True-we'll look the matter in the face, and not try to make it less than it is. It will be a great disappointment. Our ideas have always been so moderate, and this would have met them so perfectly! We'll not pretend, even to each other, that it is not hard. But then, Frank, it is nothing we are in any way to blame for, that is one comfort." "Yes."

"And it is pleasant to know that your employers thought so well of you; that but for a misfortune, entirely out of your control, they would have been glad to give you the position."

"Oh dear, Milly, that's the sting of it! Out of my control! To come so near, and miss it through no fault of my own! I don't care so much for myself as for you. You might have been so comfortable, so at ease; and this throws you back on all the old uncertainties and anxieties."

"Yes," said Milly-and she paused a minute. "We must fall back, too, on the one blessing, the one Friend, that will not change with our health or our prosperity. We must not forget that."

"I don't, dear," he answered, pressing her hand.

"And we have each other and the children. After all, Frank, if you were only well I should not mind the rest. We could manage in some way. But it is hard that you should suffer so much and be obliged to go on with your work."

Poor Frank! he was destined never to be "well" again. In every interval of ease he tried to hope for an improvement, to think that the doctor regarded his case too seriously, and that recovery had now begun. But these hopes were as often disappointed. Meanwhile the expected changes came about: Mr. Kyle retired; a new cashier was appointed. What a simple thing it was, the destruction of all those happy prospects! One or two of the directors spoke to Frank; they regretted the failure of his health; nothing could have pleased them better than to give him the position.. But it required all the energies of a sound and vigor

ous man.

Frank knew it; he could not blame them. Still, it was a bitter day for him when

the last chance vanished and Mr. Nesbit entered on his duties.

He was vigorous enough, this last. A large, stern man, with a harsh voice and dictatorial manner; such a contrast to Mr. Kyle, who used to come in smiling, with friendly nods to all the clerks, every one of whom felt for him an affectionate regard. Mr. Nesbit cared not one straw for their regard; he would have scouted the idea of such sentimental nonsense. The bank was a great machine of which he had control; the clerks were nothing but its wheels and cogs and screws. All he wanted of them was to be sound and tight and in their places, and to do the work that they were set to do.

It was a hard sway for Frank; any one could see how it must end. He saw it himself, and that right early, but tried to close his eyes to a certainty so direful. For the first time since their marriage he had a secret from Milly. She had cares enough already; it would be time enough for her to know his fears when something really happened.

"Not he! He had made up his mind to get rid of an encumbrance, and was glad to do it. Not one word of sympathy; and he knew that to me it was nothing less than ruin!"

The despair of his tone cut Milly to the heart, but it roused, too, her quick habit of cheerfulness and courage. "Not quite as bad as that, dear," she said. "It is a great calamity, I know, but there is Mr. Kyle, who would have been glad to take you with him-and there are other banks-and you are well known among so many business men. We must not think our last chance is gone."

"Mr. Kyle wanted the sort of man I used to be. He is starting a new business, and needs active, energetic help; and it is so every where. If the bank that knows me so well, that has had such long and faithful service from me, casts me aside as a worthless tool, you can see how others will be likely to regard me."

"What is the matter?" she said, as he opened the door. "Are you ill again?" for his face was white as death.

"I may as well tell you at once," he answered. "I would keep it from you if I could, Milly, but you will have to know. The very worst has happened. I have been discharged from the bank."

"Discharged!" she exclaimed.

"Yes. Mr. Nesbit sent for me as soon as I arrived. I went into the back-room without a thought of what was coming. I have often dreaded it before, but to-day it never occurred to me. And he said that my frequent absences threw off my work upon the other clerks, who had plenty of their own to do, and interrupted the order of the bank, and that it was impossible to go on so any longer. He gave me a check for the salary due and for a month in advance -and so dismissed me!"

"Can this really be true?" said Milly, hardly knowing what she uttered.

"You may well ask that. I was completely astounded. I did not even say good-by to the boys. I walked out of the bank like one in a dream. The crowds in the street and the cool air recalled me, and at first I thought I would not tell you. I would go out as usual every day and look about for business, and never let you know till I had found it. But I soon felt how hopeless that would be."

"Hopeless indeed!" she said, endeavoring to smile. "You must never try that, Frank. I must hear your bad news as well as your good. Did Mr. Nesbit seem sorry for you?"

low found rest in the certainty that there was one place where he was valued and important. His just pride had received a cruel blow in the abrupt dismissal; it lowered him in his own eyes. The manner of it, as he said to Milly, aggravated even the disaster. An old employé of the bank, identified with its prosperity, considered by himself and others an important member of its corps-and to be turned off like a worthless servant! By Mr. Nesbit, too, a man so new to authority, so little liked or respected any where. He was almost disposed to contest the point, to see if he had not a friend or two yet in the board who would stand by him. Milly could not counsel this. "It would never be comfortable," she said, confining herself to the most obvious aspect of the case. "Mr. Nesbit could show his unfriendliness in a hundred ways. You would be obliged to go at last." She spared him the hint of what she dreaded, that the directors would sustain their cashier's action. Mr. Nesbit might be ever so harsh or arbitrary or ungentlemanlike, but he was still a valuable servant-while Frank, poor Frank! It was hard to bear.

She could not keep back a few tears when she was alone, and no one could be troubled by them. It was bitter to think that old friendship, long association, counted for just nothing the moment that you ceased to be of use. Yet "business was business," she acknowledged. Mr. Nesbit was only to blame, perhaps, for putting needless humiliations into a necessary measure. But what a prospect that opened for them all! Cold weather was coming on. The autumn had been sharp, and people foretold a hard winter for the poor. "The poor!" Milly had always thought of them as of a class utterly distinct from hers. Yet unless Frank could

obtain, and keep, some paying occupation, they were likely to know before long what was meant by real poverty.

Now began that weary search for employment which only those can understand who have gone through with it. What a different world it seemed to Frank! He had been used to feel himself a part of the vast life of the city; he had his place, honorable if not conspicuous, in that magnificent and mighty realm of "business." But now how pitiless was its roar and whirl! Men went their ways, transactions failed or prospered, stocks rose and fell, all the machinery was in full play, while he stood by an idle and forlorn spectator.

Day after day he came home worn-out with fatigue; he walked unheard-of distances now to save the trifle of fare. Morning after morning he set out again, besieging every point where there was the least hope of success. He never guessed before how many chances there are against a man who is already down. Vacancies were fearfully rare; people were discharging their old clerks oftener than employing new ones. Wherever he applied his health was against him. No matter how humble the position, how insignificant the salary, a reliable person was wanted for it; one who would be at his post every day and all day. Poor Frank, who had been fully equal to an important trust, found himself ranked as below the most inferior

one.

Milly had thought herself industrious when the housekeeping and the children fully occupied her time, but it was plain that there must be retrenchment somewhere. The year's income was never so largely in excess of the year's expenditure that much could be laid by. On these careful savings she was determined to draw as little as she could. They must be kept for that even harder time which she foreboded. The one servant was dismissed, and the work of the house added to Milly's other cares. Garments that had been thrown by were mended yet again; fuel, food, light, were economized with the utmost exactitude; and yet how large were the bills of every week! how rapidly the little store of ready money melted away!

Where, one might ask, was Aunt Sophia in this time of darkness and despondency? In her own home, surrounded with comforts and luxuries innumerable, yet not exempt from the common lot of trial. Her cook was despotic; had his own ideas of the arrangement of a dinner, and would brook no interference with them. Green-house flowers, too, were frightfully expensive, and Mr. Ellis often grumbled at the cost, though he knew that she must have them to decorate the table. She came to see Milly sometimes not very often, for it was such a journey across the river-and bewailed her misfortunes much after the fashion of the friends of Job, but offered no aid more substantial than sympathy. Perhaps she did not fully understand the exigencies of the case. Milly was not one to dwell upon her trials, particularly to

those who would lament that she had been so brought down in the world. Nor had Aunt Sophia, handsomely as she lived, much money at her own disposal; much, at any rate, of whose use her husband did not expect to know the history. Mr. Ellis had liked to have Milly with them in her early days; a pretty girl, her bright young face enlivening the house. If she had married to gratify his pride he might have done something handsome for her; as it was, she had chosen for herself, and her future was her own look-out. Such conduct will surprise no one who has observed the entire calmness with which people rolling in wealth can view the struggles and privations of their poorer friends. Milly, taught by experience, was grateful for her aunt's good will, and looked for nothing more.

Toward mid-winter Frank obtained the longsought situation: a small clerkship, with just one-quarter of the salary he was accustomed to receive. The young pair tried to look upon it as a temporary thing, a mere expedient, till something more suitable should offer. It was temporary, indeed, but hardly in the sense they had expected.

Milly's attention turned now to a change of residence. She had known ever since Frank's dismissal that they must leave their home with the expiration of the year, but had put off the thought-there was so much else to think of! It was time now to look about and see what could be done. To look at all was not an easy matter; who would take care of the house and the children in her absence? Fortunately Margaret, her old servant, had a younger sister, who, though a child herself, could give some supervision to those yet younger. Milly then, on two or three days of every week; got through her morning's work as soon as might be, and set out. One of the children went with her; that one, at least, would be under her own eye. The others were left to the care of little Anny.

III.

House-hunting is seldom a cheerful pursuit, even where one's means are tolerably ample. There is apt to be a great discrepancy between our requirements and our purse. Judge what it was, then, for poor Milly, obliged to look only to the plainest and cheapest that could be procured. She considered in the beginning that her ideas were humble; she had no ambition for "gentility" of neighborhood or nicety of dwelling. Any house, ever so small or plain, would do; she asked only for cleanliness and decency in its surroundings. Before her quest was ended she inclined to think that cleanliness and decency were luxuries to which poor people had no business to aspire; that she had been arrogant in dreaming of them.

Day after day she came home in the wintry` twilight, weary and disheartened; what places she had seen! what rents were asked for them! It seemed hopeless to try longer, yet try she must. She could not yield quite yet, and set

tle down in the midst of squalor and disorder. She grew nervous as the house was neared; the anxiety about the children, which went with her all day, culminated then. Once within the door, however, their clamorous welcome assured her of their safety. They had not set themselves on fire, nor fallen down stairs, nor broken neck, nor leg, nor arm. Little Anny was a treasure in her way. She had kept them out of mischief; she had even brushed their hair and tidied them generally to meet their

mother.

How Milly would have liked at such times to throw herself on the couch in the back-parlor, with the children gathered around her; to have a cup of tea brought in, and by-and-by, when she was thoroughly rested, to sit down to a comfortable meal! Nothing of the kind could be thought of. She always managed to return home a little before Frank arrived; to have the gas lighted, his dressing-gown and slippers ready, and the room made cheerful for him. Dinner must be next prepared; a frugal meal, which she tried to render more palatable by nicety of serving and arrangement. Then there was the china to wash, and the children must be put to bed. Anny was very helpful about these matters; the tired wife found her an invaluable aid. When all had been disposed of, and the little handmaid trotted off to her own room-for Milly was unwilling that she should go home through the streets at night-an hour or two of liberty remained. Frank lay on the sofa; his wife sat beside him. On these evenings she did not try to sew; house-hunting had left her small energy for the needle. They talked of things new and old, the past and the future, and felt that, dimmed as their prospects were, the sweetness of life was not yet over.

If only they could have gone on thus! Had it been possible, Milly felt that she could rest in the present and be content. Darker days were coming. Frank was an invalid; he needed repose and care. She had often felt how hard was the necessity which took him forth to daily labor. She saw, as spring advanced, that it could not last much longer; with such irregular attendance no place could be retained. And what were they to do?

One evening they were alone together. "Milly," said Frank, suddenly, "it is rather more than a year now since Mr. Kyle spoke to me about the cashiership. What a dream it seems like that I was ever thought fit for such a place!"

"And if I do not I shall be asked to, before long. It is a plain case. Oh, Milly, you don't know what a man feels who used to be competent to his work and trusted in it-to find himself failing, falling lower and lower, and at last fit for nothing. In all this wide world there seems no place for me but one. Sometimes I think if I were there, and out of the way, it would be the best thing that could happen. There would be one less to provide for-and you would have the insurance, and what little else there is-" Milly broke down at this. "You must not talk so," she cried, bursting into tears and throwing her arms around him. "We must not be impatient under God's hand."

"I am not," he answered, quietly. "It is not that. I am only saying what I have often thought of, dear. It is but the simple truth."

"And what should I do, Frank? What would my life be if you were not here to share it?"

"I don't know why you are so fond of me, poor child," he said, smoothing her bright hair. "I have never amounted to much-and now I have brought you to such a strait-"

"Don't say that, Frank."

"But you might have married so different

ly."

"And so might you; and neither regrets the marriage that we made. Could I bear to think of any other woman being with you all these years?"

"No other could be what you have been, Milly."

"I hope not-to you. It is no merit in me. I had rather be here than any where. You must not reproach me again, Frank," she added, faintly smiling, "with the better marriages I might have made."

"No. I will thank God, instead, for giving you to me, Milly."

The first of May drew near, when some decision for the coming twelvemonth must be made. In her numerous journeys Milly had found one place which better than others met her wishes-a little house, far out on one of the avenues, distant from the ferry, disadvantageous in many ways; yet still a house standing by itself, and with a rent which there was some hope of meeting. It was the only thing she had seen which appeared at all tolerable. Even

"I suppose not, but it tires me even to think of it. I get worse and worse. I don't see how I can go on. If I had been receiving any thing like a salary it would not have been honest to be paid for such attendance. And I am afraid the limit is about reached. They have been very kind at the office, both Mr. M'Nally and the clerks, but I believe it is not right to tax them further."

salary, trifling as it was, had been something to rely upon; it lightened the draft on their dailydiminishing fund. Now that was gone, only to her own exertions could she look for any income; and she could do nothing so far away from every body. What, indeed, could she do any where? How were three children and their parents to be supported by the efforts of one woman, whose strength was even now severely tasked?