"Dear me. There is no one else to care for the poor child. Of course, no one will take it up but us. So make haste." Out she went, leaving me just heart-broken and ready to give up. How could I go? how could I leave him and "the Branch," as if my soul were fleeing from his? It was of no use. E. E. was set upon going, and I couldn't help myself. Well, sisters, two hours after I left that bed we had packed up bag and baggage, given a cart-load of trunks for the express-men to smash or carry, just as they liked, and then took a little run of railroad, and a sail in a steamboat so grand and airy, and no ending, that we began to feel sorry that James Fisk was dead, or that his splendid ghost didn't roam along the steamboat track and keep things ship-shape, as he left them. Well, in that steamboat we reached New York, warm, restless, and nigh about ready to give out, or take a friendly sunstroke and be peaceably carried away to a cool vault in some shady graveyard. I mentioned this alternative to Cousin Dempster, but he shook his head and answered that some of us might find ourselves waking up in a more uncomfortable place than the streets of New York; which I thought impossible, but said nothing. Well, we had a few hours to stay in the city before a boat would be ready to take us to Saratoga Springs--a name that sounded so cool and refreshing, that I longed to get there and breathe again. Cousin E. E. said, when we went ashore: "Phœmie," says she, "there are a few hours before us; suppose we go a-shopping? I want ever so many things. Saratoga is a dressy place, and I haven't a thing to wear." Then, before I could object, says she to Dempster: "A check, my dear, or if you have the funds on hand." Dempster gave a sigh that shook his manly bosom through and through, and says he: "There," drawing a roll of bank bills from his vest pocket, "will that do?" E. E. unrolled the bills and sorted them out. "Ten, twenty, fifty, ten, ten, ten, fif-- Why, Dempster, what do you mean? How far will a hundred and fifty dollars go? I want to spend more than that on Valenciennes lace for Cecilia's dress. The child must have something to wear." She spoke in a grieved, half-angry way, that touched Dempster to the heart. He took out his pocket-book, but not another sign of money was in it. Then he felt in three or four pockets with the air of a man who was tormented with doubts of finding anything. At last he stopped looking. "I haven't another red cent about me, dear. Indeed I haven't." "Dear me, what am I to do? There is a guipure sacque at Stewart's that I must have." "Couldn't you get along without it?" says Dempster, with such pathetic earnestness that I really felt sorry for him. "Get along without it! How can you ask?" "That Brussels lace thing," faltered Dempster.