“I can’t bear to think of their losing the farm,” Marion said over and over, with tears in her eyes. “Mother is such a weak, helpless woman and father is so old. Oh! it makes my blood boil to think of it, and yet I cannot help it!” “Father can hardly expect us to help him,” said Dollie, sadly. “He has never written us once, nor will he allow mother to do so. If he were a little less hard-hearted I think I should feel worse about it, Marion.” “We must not think of that,” said Marion, decidedly. “They are our parents, dear; we must try to help them.” “But how?” asked Dollie, in great perplexity. Marion’s eyes grew thoughtful as she answered slowly: “I don’t know how exactly, but it must be done! I must help my father pay off that mortgage!” “This money will only last about a month,” said Dollie, who was doing a little figuring, “but Oh, Marion, I am sure we shall have work before then! But tell me, what did you do to-day? I have had no time to ask you before.” “I went to five places,” said Marion, promptly. “I offered my services as laundress, chambermaid and waitress; then I tried an employment bureau, which was a regular fraud, by the way, and two applications in dry goods stores completed my day’s work, Dollie.” “Poor Marion! You must be tired and discouraged!” said Dollie, impulsively. “Tired of fraud and humbug!” was Marion’s quick answer. “Sick and tired of sham, hypocrisy and deceit!” she said again. “Why, do you know, Dollie; two of those advertisements that I answered were merely catch traps to get your money! Instead of having positions to offer, they merely tell you they can get you one provided you pay them for their trouble!” Dollie burst out laughing as Marion finished, but the laugh was unnatural; there was not an atom of mirth in it. “I had a little experience of my own to-day,” she said, hysterically. “Oh, Marion, it was awful! I don’t know why I laugh! Sometimes I can’t help it though, for things in New York are so miserably funny!” “Better laugh than cry! But tell me what you did,” said Marion, quickly. “Oh, Dollie, I hope you didn’t get into any serious trouble.” “Well, if I did, I got out of it,” said Dollie, sobering a little. Then she told her sister the story of her visit to the private office. Just as she was finishing the door bell rang. Marion lighted the gas in their room and then went to the stairs to listen. “It’s Bert Jackson! Oh, Bert, come right up!” she cried, gayly. “I’m delighted to see you, but for goodness sake what is the matter?” She had just caught sight of the boy’s white face, and without another word she drew him into the room and closed the door behind them. “They’re after me—the Poor Farm people!” whispered Bert, more in anger than in fright. “Matt Jenkins has heard where I am and he’s seen my employer. I had to run away, and just when I had a nice position!” “It’s just too mean for anything!” cried Dollie, angrily. “Matt Jenkins is a brute! You shall not go back to him!”