MRS. HENSON sat with her three children at their frugal supper. The house was neat, but very plain, and the dress of the children showed that they were only a trifle above actual want. James, a boy of ten, sold newspapers and earned a little. Helen, between eight and nine, could help about the house when her mother was absent cleaning or washing, and Mary, seven, was the baby of the household, and the one for whom all the others sacrificed. “Did you earn much this week, James?” said the mother, who had been a widow for several years. “You know I have been sick, and we can’t meet the rent this month, and we didn’t last month. I don’t know what we shall do,” said Mrs. Henson, in a tone of confidence with James, although she did not expect that her three small children could help her solve the problem. She knew that work alone would solve it, and this she was not always able to obtain, and had been too ill to labor even if the work were before her. “I tried hard,” said the brown-eyed, slender boy, “but I didn’t sell as many papers as I do sometimes. I ran just as fast, but somehow I didn’t get so many customers, and there weren’t so many extras. You know a lady once in a while slips a nickel into your hand for a paper and won’t wait for change, and that helps a fellow along. But I didn’t have much of that last week. I didn’t spend anything for myself, either.” “No, you wouldn’t do that. We all save for each other since father died. We shall get over these hard places when you are a little older.” “Couldn’t you borrow of the lady on the hill who gave me the shoes?” said Helen. “She seems very nice, and she is rich.” “She has been good to us,” said the mother, “but I hate to bother her. One can wear out generous people by too constant asking for aid.” “I’ll tell you what to do, mamma,” said little Mary; “we’ll sell the black and tan to the big gentleman who always speaks to me so kind.” “Oh, no!” said all the other voices together. “Blackie was given to you, and you have played with her, and we couldn’t spare her. She eats very little, and you love her very much. She is the life of the house, she is so frolicsome.” “But he would pay money for her, and I could spare her if I had to. You said, mamma, we might be turned out of the house, and then what would Blackie do for a home? I think she would be happy in a big house, and we would give the man the basket she sleeps in, so she would be contented and remember us, too.” “Well, who would take her to the gentleman?” said Mrs. Henson. “I fear he would think it foolish.” “I will take her,” said the child. In the afternoon Mary wended her way to the mansion, with Blackie and the basket, and asked for the Hon. Mr. Colebrook. That gentleman rarely had time to see adults, but he would not refuse a child.