The kitchen in which his mother toiled was repeatedly shot, including close-ups of the old mother's ingenious contrivances--especially of the closed boiler with its coil of copper tubing--by which she was helping to save the humble home.
And a scene in the neat living room with its old-fashioned furniture made it all too clear that every effort would be required to save the little home.

The cruel money-lender, a lawyer with mean-looking whiskers, confronted the three shrinking inmates to warn them that he must have his money by a certain day or out they would go into the streets.

The old mother wept at this, and the earnest boy took her in his arms.

The little sister, terrified by the man's rough words, also flew to this shelter, and thus he defied the intruder, calm, fearless, dignified.

The money would be paid and the intruder would now please remember that, until the day named, this little home was their very own.
The scoundrel left with a final menacing wave of his gnarled hand; left the group facing ruin unless the invention could be perfected, unless Mother could sell an extraordinary quantity of fruit or improved grape juice to the city folks, or, indeed, unless the little sister could do something wonderful.
She, it now seemed, was confident she also could help.