“It is terrible, terrible!” said Mr. Abbott as he left Glen Arden. “Poor children! I am sorry for them. I am only thankful that my old friend was spared the knowledge of it all. Peter never was a business man, and if he had taken my advice, his money would never have gone into such a worthless concern as that railroad has proved to be. Poor children, I am sorry enough!” Mr. Abbott had no children of his own, but he had a father’s heart, and it ached as he thought of the sad-faced group which he had just left. They knew so little of life, and it seemed to be beginning badly for them. Dinner was eaten almost in silence, but afterwards, when the family had returned to the parlor and the lamps were lighted, and the room looked just as they had always known it since they could remember,—except that the dear father was no longer there,—Honor’s self-control, which she had bravely kept until now, deserted her for an instant. She covered her face with her handkerchief and gave a little sob. Then she quickly dried her eyes. “I _will not_ give way!” she said. “If I once do, it will be the end of everything; and we must keep calm and try to think clearly. I see no way out of it, girls. It really seems as if we must give up, and go live-with Aunt Sophia.” Katherine started from her chair and began to walk rapidly up and down the room. Katherine was tall and very slender, and her eyes and hair were the darkest of the family. She was an excitable person, and this remark of Honor’s, although it entirely coincided with what she feared, had a most exasperating effect upon her. “Never!” she said. “Honor, how can you say such a thing? Are you going to meekly give in and do just what Aunt Sophia says, after all? I should think you would have more spirit. I—I would rather do anything than that. Scrubbing floors would be better than dusting Aunt Sophia’s ugly china, and writing her endless notes about stupid meetings. Really, Honor, I am surprised that you can sit there and calmly say you are willing to do it!” “I didn’t say that I was willing,” said Honor; “and, Katherine, you know I am not. And, as for being calm—but what is the use of discussing that? We have got to live, and we have no money; therefore, if some one offers us homes and educations, I suppose there is nothing for us to do but say, ‘thank you,’ and meekly take them.” “You may, but I never will.” “What will you do?” “Give music lessons.” “But where will you live?” “Board somewhere alone, I suppose. Lots of women do that who have to support themselves.” “But not women that are as young as you are, and who have been brought up as you have been.” “I can’t help my bringing up, and I shall rapidly grow older, and I _will not_ go to Aunt Sophia’s.” “I have an idea,” said Victoria. “I have been thinking about it since before dinner, and what Katherine says about supporting herself just fits in with it.”