I gave an agonized cry at the words, and the elder boy exclaimed: “What did yer want to say that for? For two cents I’d give yer a good lickin’!”--while he, of the toe, said: “No, yer won’t give me a lickin’ for two cents, nor for one cent, neither!” “Why won’t I?” “Why didn’t Jack eat his supper, eh?” And then they grabbed at each other over my head, but a grave voice said: “Boys, I never was so shamed by you before!” It was Alfred, the eldest of the seven, and a “grown-up” himself. He paid no attention to their explanations--their recriminations; he simply stooped, and, lifting my shaking body in his arms, carried me into the house. As he was going up the narrow stairs a splash came on my cheek that was no tear of mine. A thrill went through me from head to foot--I lifted my swollen lids to look at him. His face wore that gray tint paleness brings to dark people, and in his always sad eyes I saw slow tears gathering. I buried my own face in his bosom, and laying my shaking, little hand across his eyes, I sobbed: “Don’t, oh, please don’t! She couldn’t bear it if she knew!” He took me to my mother’s room and, placing me high against the pillows, deftly tied a wet handkerchief about my hot brows, and then he stood looking down at me for a moment before he said, with a quivering voice: “You know now, don’t you, Carrie?” I nodded my head and wrung my hands silently. “Yes,” he went on, “she is going soon, dear--and--and--it’s rough! Good God! Carrie! if you could have seen her three years ago--if you could have heard her sing! I think sometimes my father is a devil! There--there--I didn’t mean to say that!--but see, dear, little girl!” He knelt down quickly by the bed and took my hands in his. He spoke rapidly--pressing my fingers tightly, to hold my attention: “They are going to ask you to do something--to-morrow, perhaps--this awful attack of Linda’s will hurry things--I can’t tell you _what_ they will ask; I have not the time, but, Carrie, refuse! Don’t be badgered--don’t be coaxed--not even by darling Linda! One martyr is enough! Refuse, refuse! for, oh, we will be a hard lot when sister has left us!” His body shook with sobs; for a moment he let his head rest on the edge of the bed. Then he rose and left the room to go to his own, where I heard him lock himself in. And that day ended my ignorance about Miss Linda’s fate, and it also ended Miss Linda’s music--she had played her last note. That I had received a shock was evident to the whole family, and I heard the sick girl say to her father: “Wait, papa, dear, don’t speak to Carrie yet--give her a little time.”