"She was sorry, but she made no objection," replied Ellen, evasively. Fanny came forward abruptly, caught up the camphor-bottle, and began bathing Andrew's forehead again. "We won't say any more about it," said she, in a harsh voice. "You'd better go over to your grandma Brewster's and see if she has got any whiskey. I think your father needs to take something." "I don't want anything," said Andrew, feebly. "Yes, you do, too, you are as white as a sheet. Go over and ask her, Ellen." Ellen ran across the yard to her grandmother's, and the old woman met her at the door. She seemed to have an instinctive knowledge of trouble. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Father's a little faint, and mother wants me to borrow the whiskey," said Ellen. She had not at that time the courage to tell her grandmother what she had done. Mrs. Zelotes ran into the house, and came out with the bottle. "I'm comin' over," she announced. "I'm kind of worried about your father; he 'ain't looked well for some time. I wonder what made him faint. Maybe he ate something which hurt him." Ellen said nothing. She fled up-stairs to her chamber, as her grandmother entered the bedroom. She felt cowardly, but she thought that she would let her mother tell the news. She sat down and waited. She knew that presently she would hear the old woman's voice at the foot of the stairs. She was resolved upon her course, and knew that she could not be shaken in it, yet she dreaded unspeakably the outburst of grief and anger which she knew would come from her grandmother. She felt as if she had faced two fires, and now before the third she quailed a little. It was not long before the expected summons came. "Ellen--Ellen Brewster, come down here!" Ellen went down. Her grandmother met her at the foot of the stairs. She was trembling from head to foot; her mouth twisted and wavered as if she had the palsy. "Look here, Ellen Brewster, this ain't true?" she stammered. "Yes, grandma," answered Ellen. "I have thought it all over, and it is the only thing for me to do." Her grandmother clutched her arm, and the girl felt as if she were in the grasp of another will, which was more conclusive than steel. "You sha'n't!" she said, whispering, lest Andrew should hear, but with intense force. "I've got to, grandma. We've got to have the money." "The money," said the old woman, with an inflection of voice and a twist of her features indicative of the most superb scorn--"the money! I guess you ain't goin' to lose such a chance as that for money. I guess I've got two hundred and ten dollars a year income, and I'll give up a half of that, and Andrew can put a mortgage on the house, if that Tenny woman has got to be supported because her husband has run off and left her and her young one. You sha'n't go to work in a shop." "I've got to, grandma," said Ellen. The old woman looked at her. It was like a duel between two strong wills of an old race. "You sha'n't," she said.