Well, they still had bread and
oatmeal porridge, but that was all.
Who would have imagined it! The little house was still distinguished
from the others of the row by an appearance of comfort. Although Mrs.
Farrell could not do any type-writing, the children were neat and trim
going to school; Bernard's clothes were as carefully brushed, his boots
as shining, linen as fresh, his mien as gentlemanly as ever. And they
found great satisfaction in the reflection that no one was aware of the
true state of affairs. The mother and Bernard agreed, when they began
housekeeping under their changed circumstances, to contract no bills;
what they could not afford to pay for at the time they would do without.
So now no butcher nor baker came clamoring for settlement of his account.
The doctor was willing to wait for his money; all they owed besides was
the rent. Only the landlord knew this, and he was disposed to be
lenient. Mrs. Farrell still tried to hope for the best, but sometimes
she grew dejected, was sorely tempted to repine.
"Mother," little Jack once asked, "aren't people who, as you say, 'have
seen better days' and become poor, much poorer than people who have
always been poor?"
"It seems to me they are, my child," answered the widow, dispiritedly.
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