Old Mr.Hardcastle had waxed quite friendly as he expressed his thanks, and one day, catching Ingred by the gate with Derry, he had volunteered the information that "that fox terrier of yours is a fine dog, and no mistake, and would be worth something to a fancier!" "Sell Derry!" the idea, though she hated it, had taken possession of Ingred's brain.

He was the only thing she had that was of marketable value.

To part with the poor little fellow would be like selling her birthright, but, after all, brothers came first, and how could Athelstane study without books?
Something Mother had said the other day clamored in her memory.

"If we've lost our fortune we've got our family intact, and we must stick tight together, and be ready to make sacrifices for one another." Ingred had quite made up her mind.

She put on her hat, took Derry from his cozy place by the kitchen fire, kissed his nose, and, carrying him in her arms, walked to the next-door house, rang the bell, and asked to see Mr.Hardcastle.
She found the old gentleman in a cozy dining-room, seated by a cheery fire, and reading the evening paper.