"Certainly not," he said in an annoyed sort of manner as if he had not liked me to ask. "We're simply living way beyond what we can afford; that's all. We've got to cut down. I don't know how long it may take to make a favourable sale of this house, but in the meanwhile we can't afford to keep two servants. I'm sorry, Lucy; I'm sorry; but it's a matter of economy _to-day_, not economy _to-morrow_. I've thought it all out," my brother continued, beginning now to pace up and down the room. "I know Nellie has been with us twenty years. We shall miss her; but she's not strong, she can't cook or wash. We must have a good young Irish girl--five dollars a week--not more. It means a big change this time, you see. I had hoped to avoid such a course as this, but if we are to escape a worse catastrophe--" I don't know what Alec went on talking about as he walked up and down that sitting-room floor; I don't know how long he continued explaining, and trying to make clear to me the seriousness of our situation; I don't know; I really _don't know_. I sat stunned and silent in my chair, not stirring a muscle. _Sell our home!_ Why, Father had built it. I had been born in it. _Dismiss Nellie!_ Why, Nellie had known my mother. Nellie was part of the foundation of our lives. I couldn't take in the succeeding facts because those two were stuck in my throat. I felt like crying out, "Don't, don't cram any more in. I'm choking!" But Alec kept right on. "The stable, of course, I shall close immediately. We mustn't keep a horse. I shall have to get rid of Dixie." It isn't a nice figure, but at that last announcement I gulped up all that I had tried to swallow before. "O Alec," I interrupted, "poor little Dixie! Please, please, _please_ don't sell Dixie!" I pleaded. "Please don't sell our home," I cried. "Why, where shall we live? Don't send Nellie away. Don't! Don't! I'll do anything! I won't buy a stitch for myself. And I'll work--I'll work my hands to the bones! I can earn something. But oh, don't sell dear, poor little Dixie." I leaned forward suddenly and burst into tears. "Oh, everything has always been hard in my life--hard, hard, hard!" I sobbed. Alec came over and stood in front of me perfectly silent. He hadn't seen me go into a passion like this for years. I could feel his tired kind gaze burrowing through my two hands that covered my face. I wished he wouldn't look so troubled and sad, for though I didn't glance up, I knew exactly how disappointed in me he was--how shocked by my tears. For a full half-minute he said nothing. He waited until I was perfectly quiet, then he spoke very gently. "Why, Bobbie," he said, "ever since the day that you came from boarding-school when Father was so ill, and I came into the room and found you strong and calm and self-possessed, ever since then I have thought of you as _my partner_." He stopped. "But perhaps this--_this_ is too much. Perhaps--"