Her husband had been one of those happy and lavish persons who obtain, Heaven knows how, a reputation for wealth. He had always had plenty of money to spend, and everything he or his family needed, but it was, unfortunately, a sort of Fortunatus’ purse, into which he could dip without limit, but which couldn’t be bequeathed, which for everyone else lay flat and empty. At least he had insured his life, and his widow received a monthly income of twenty-five dollars from this--her sole income. An impossible situation. How she struggled along, no one knew, not even herself. Although struggle is not the word; she didn’t struggle; she simply went on existing, miraculously sustained by the forbearance of others. It was impossible to turn the poor creature out, rent or no rent, or to refuse her credit for food, in this town where she had lived for sixty years. She “managed.” When she couldn’t pay, she didn’t pay. Her quite simple rule was to give cash when compelled, and to commandeer the rest of her necessities. She didn’t worry very much over her debts. She had a phrase which satisfied her completely. “You can’t draw blood from a stone,” she would say. Her son had sent her money now and then, but very little. He had not been a good son; ‘his father over again,’ she often reflected, ‘out of sight, out of mind.’ A present at Christmas time, or when the girls came to visit. He never asked her how she managed, because he didn’t want to know. And here were the girls left as she had been left.... Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at Minnie. “Yes, I’ve been a lonely old woman,” she said, “but I hope I shan’t be any more.” Minnie kissed her soberly. “No, Grandma, dear,” she said. “We won’t leave you again.” “Where else could we go, anyway?” she added to herself, in her practical way. CHAPTER FOUR I Frances had waked up early that first morning. She looked round the big, low-ceilinged room, at the pictures on the walls, sheep in a snowstorm, ships at sea, religious maidens, hung with a sole aim of covering up the most badly stained places in the faded paper, at the white iron wash stand, the lame chest of drawers on which stood a quite unrelated and unattached mirror, the dusty strips of old carpets serving as rugs, at all the dinginess and shabbiness and deserted old age, and in a sort of frenzy, she began to shake Minnie. Minnie opened her black eyes. “Well!” she said, sleepy but good-humoured. “Minnie, isn’t this _awful_!” “The same as it always was,” she replied, slowly, “and it seems to me we can be pretty useful here.” Frances frowned. “To Grandma? Of course.... Only, isn’t it senseless for two healthy young women to spend their time looking after one old lady?” “I shouldn’t call it senseless.” “I could help much more by earning money and sending it to her,” said Frances. “You don’t have to decide all that _now_,” Minnie returned, rather severely. “You can give yourself a week or so to rest--after what’s happened.”