That was the part we found next to impossible to explain to Robin. “I don’t know what you mean,” he sobbed, after the first outburst of violent grief was over. “I like Rosebud to drink my milk, Elizabeth. It’s good for him.” “But it’s good for you, too, Bobsie dear,” I said. “And you are sick, and Rosebud isn’t. Mother can’t afford to buy more than one quart a day,—you know that.” “What’s ‘afford’?” questioned Robin. “It means that we haven’t the money. We are poor, dear.” Robin looked at me out of wondering tear-wet eyes. “Poor?” he echoed;—“like the people in stories? Oh, Ellie!” Then he sighed, and soothed my hand, and was very sweet and patient all the rest of the afternoon. He even bade good-bye to Rosebud with fond stoical precision, patting the kitten on the head, and remarking: “It is best that we should part!” Dear, loving, little fellow! I really believe the information came to him as quite a shock. But fancy his having to be told! * * * * * When Haze came up from tending the furnace to-night his face was even more care-lined and anxious than usual. “How much is there left?” I asked,—the inevitable question. “If we’re careful it may last till the middle of next week,” returned Hazard, grimly. “Then, I suppose, we’ll begin pawning the spoons. Odd world,—hey?” Certainly, it is hard for Hazey. One can’t blame him for occasional bitterness. He is working faithfully and well in uncongenial surroundings, and has not had a cent of pay for weeks; while Geof, who is showered with the very advantages for which Haze so ardently longs, seems sullenly determined to make no use of them. Oh, the contrast is cruel! But mother says the struggle is bringing out a new manliness and self-reliance in Haze that are a daily surprise and joy to her. Roses again,—dear mother! But something had _better_ hurry up and happen soon! Wednesday, January 28. He thought he saw a Banker’s Clerk Descending from the ’bus; He looked again, and found it was A Hippopotamus. “If this should stay to dine,” he said, “There won’t be much for us!” We did not think it was a Banker’s Clerk, but a Boarder! Robin, sitting in the wicker rocker in the window, spied him first. “Hurrah!” he piped in his shrill little treble. “I just know that big fat man is coming here! He is going to ring our door-bell, and engage all the empty rooms! See, if he doesn’t.”— And the prophecy came true! It was almost like the relief of Lucknow. “All on a sudden the garrison utter a jubilant shout!” For, oh! I don’t know how much longer we could have held out.