"I'm afraid even at twenty-five cents it will be hard for us to pay for butter, if I don't get something to do soon." "I guess I won't tell Aunt Jane till after supper," Ben decided. "After a good cup of tea, perhaps it won't make her feel so low-spirited." So he ate his supper, chatting merrily with his little cousin all the time, just as if he had nothing on his mind. Even his aunt smiled from time to time at his nonsense, catching the contagion of his cheerfulness. "I wish you'd split a little wood for me, Ben," said Mrs. Bradford, as our hero rose from the supper table. "I've had some ironing to do this afternoon, and that always takes off the fuel faster." "All right, Aunt Jane," said Ben. "I guess I'll wait till I've finished the wood before telling her," thought Ben. "It won't be any worse than now." Tony went into the woodshed, to keep him company, and his aunt prepared to clear away the supper dishes. She had scarcely commenced upon this when a knock was heard at the door. The visitor proved to be old Mrs. Perkins, a great-aunt of James Watson, who was an inveterate gossip. Her great delight was to carry news from one house to another. "How do you do, Mrs. Bradford?" she began. "I was just passin' by, and thought I'd come in a minute." "I am very glad to see you, Mrs. Perkins. Won't you have a cup of tea?" "No thank you. The fact is, I've just took tea at my nephew Watson's. There I heard the news, and I couldn't help comin' right round and sympathizin' with you." "Sympathizing with me! What for?" asked Mrs. Bradford, amazed. On general principles, she felt that she stood in need of sympathy, but her visitor's tone seemed to hint at something in particular. "It ain't possible you haven't heard the news?" ejaculated Mrs. Perkins, feeling that she was indeed in luck, to have it in her power to communicate such important intelligence to one who had not heard of it. "I hope it isn't anything about Ben," said Mrs. Bradford alarmed. "Yes, I may say it is something about Benjamin," answered Mrs. Perkins, nodding in a tantalizing manner. "He hasn't got into any scrape, has he? He hasn't done anything wrong, has he?" asked Aunt Jane startled. "No, poor child!" sighed the old lady. "That's the wust on't. It ain't what he has done; it's because he won't have anything to do." "For mercy's sakes, tell me what you mean, Mrs. Perkins." "Hasn't Benjamin told you that he's lost his place at the factory?" "Is this true, Mrs. Perkins?" asked Mrs. Bradford, turning pale. "Yes, business is dull and fifty men and boys have been turned off. James Watson and your Benjamin are among them." "Ben never told me anything about it," faltered Mrs. Bradford. "Heaven only knows what we shall do."