The mother took her daughter's hand, and the two walked up the broad stairs together.
"Molly," said the mother, as the girl listlessly went about her preparations for bed, "don't grieve so about Bob.

Father and John need him there.

It's business, you know." The daughter answered, "Yes, I know, but I'm so lonesome--so lonesome." Then she sobbed, "You know he hasn't written for a whole week, and I'm afraid--afraid!" When the paroxysm had passed, the mother said: "You know, my dear, they need him there a little longer, and he wants to come back.

Your father told me that John sent word to-day that you must not let him come." The girl's face looked the pain that struck her heart, and she did not answer.

"Molly dear," began the mother again, "can't you write to Bob to-morrow and urge him to stay--for me?
For all of us?
It is so much to us now--for a little while--to have Bob there, sending back money for the company.