Farrell was prepared to take up her occupation again, an attack of
rheumatism crippled her fingers and rendered them almost powerless. Then
it was that, worn out and disheartened, she broke down and cried:
"Oh! why does not God help us?"
Her son's usually happy face wore an expression of discouragement also as
she turned to him with the appeal. His lips twitched nervously; but in a
moment the trustfulness which she had taught him was at hand to comfort
her.
"Indeed, mother, He will--He _does_," said Bernard tenderly, though in
the matter-of-fact manner which he knew would best arouse her. "You are
all tired out, or you would not speak in that way. You must have a good
rest. Keep the rooms warm, so that you will not take any more cold, and
before long you will be able to rattle the type-writer at a greater speed
than ever. That reminds me, mother," he continued--seeing that she was
beginning to recover herself, and wishing to divert her thoughts,--"one
of the things we have to be thankful for is that this house is easily
heated. It beats all the way coal does last here! The ton we got two
months ago isn't gone yet,"
"That is the way coal lasts when there is not any one to steal it, as
there was in the flat, where the cellars were not properly divided off,"
answered Mrs.
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