I don't want to be carried away because I'm out of work, though, God knows, it's hard enough." "I don't know what's goin' to become of us," said Joseph Atkins--then he coughed.
"I don't," Jim Tenny said, bitterly.
"And God knows I don't," cried Eva, and she sat down in the nearest chair, flung up her hands before her face, and wept.
Then Fanny spoke to Ellen, who had been sitting very still and attentive, her eyes growing larger, her cheeks redder with excitement.

Fanny had often glanced uneasily at her, and wished to send her to bed, but she was in the habit of warming Ellen's little chamber at the head of the stairs by leaving open the sitting-room door for a while before she went to it, and she was afraid of cooling the room too much for Joseph Atkins, and had not ventured to interrupt the conversation.

Now, seeing the child's fevered face, she made up her mind.

"Come, Ellen, it's your bed-time," she said, and Ellen rose reluctantly, and, kissing her father, she went to her aunt Eva, who caught at her convulsively and kissed her, and sobbed against her cheek.

"Oh, oh!" she wailed, "you precious little thing, you precious little thing, I don't know what's goin' to become of us all." "Don't, Eva," said Fanny, sharply; "can't you see she's all wrought up?
She hadn't ought to have heard all this talk." Andrew looked anxiously at his wife, rose, and caught up Ellen in his arms with a hug of fervent and protective love.