Aunt Rachel was right in one thing, as Jack realized. He could not find horses to hold every day, and even if he had succeeded in that, few would have paid him so munificently as the stranger of the day before. In fact, matters came to a crisis, and something must be sold to raise funds for immediate necessities. Now, the only article of luxury—if it could be called so—in the possession of the family was a sofa, in very good preservation, indeed nearly new, for it had been bought only two years before when business was good. A neighbor was willing to pay fifteen dollars for this, and Mrs. Harding, with her husband's consent, agreed to part with it.

"If ever we are able we will buy another," said Timothy.

"And, at any rate, we can do without it," said his wife.

"Rachel will miss it."

"She said the other day that it was not comfortable, and ought never to have been bought; that it was a shameful waste of money."

"In that case she won't be disturbed by our selling it."

"No, I should think not; but it's hard to tell how Rachel will take anything."

This remark was amply verified.

The sofa was removed while the spinster was out, and without any hint to her of what was going to happen. When she returned, she looked around for it with surprise.

"Where's the sofy?" she asked.

"We've sold it to Mrs. Stoddard," said Mrs. Harding, cheerfully.

"Sold it!" echoed Rachel, dolefully.

"Yes; we felt that we didn't need it, and we did need money. She offered me fifteen dollars for it, and I accepted."

Rachel sat down in a rocking-chair, and began straightway to show signs of great depression of spirits.

"Life's full of disappointments!" she groaned. "Our paths is continually beset by 'em. There's that sofa. It's so pleasant to have one in the house when a body's sick. But, there, it's gone, and if I happen to get down, as most likely I shall, for I've got a bad feeling in my stummick this very minute, I shall have to go upstairs, and most likely catch my death of cold, and that will be the end of me."

"Not so bad as that, I hope," said Mrs. Harding, cheerfully. "You know when you was sick last, you didn't want to use the sofa; you said it didn't lay comfortable. Besides, I hope before you are sick we may be able to buy it back again."

Aunt Rachel shook her head despondingly.

"There ain't any use in hoping that," she said. "Timothy's got so much behindhand that he won't be able to get up again; I know he won't!"

"But, if he only manages to find steady work soon, he will."

"No, he won't," said Rachel, positively. "I'm sure he won't. There won't be any work before spring, and most likely not then."

"You are too desponding, Aunt Rachel."

"Enough to make me so. If you had only taken my advice, we shouldn't have come to this."

"I don't know what advice you refer to, Rachel," said Mrs. Harding, patiently.

"No, I don't expect you do. My words don't make no impression. You didn't pay no attention to what I said, that's the reason."

"But if you'll repeat the advice, Rachel, perhaps we can still profit by it," answered Mrs. Harding, with imperturbable good humor.

"I told you you ought to be layin' up something agin' a rainy day. But that's always the way. Folks think when times is good it's always a-goin' to be so, but I know better."

"I don't see how we could have been much more economical," said Mrs. Harding, mildly.

"There's a hundred ways. Poor folks like us ought not to expect to have meat so often. It's frightful to think what the butcher's bill must have been for the last two months."

Inconsistent Rachel! Only the day before she had made herself very uncomfortable because there was no meat for dinner, and said she couldn't live without it. Mrs. Harding might have reminded her of this, but the good woman was too kind and forbearing to make the retort. She really pitied Rachel for her unhappy habit of despondency. So she contented herself by saying that they must try to do better in future.

"That's always the way," muttered Rachel; "shut the stable door after the horse is stolen. Folks never learn from experience till it's too late to be of any use. I don't see what the world was made for, for my part. Everything goes topsy-turvy, and all sorts of ways except the right way. I sometimes think 'tain't much use livin'!"

"Oh, you'll feel better by and by, Rachel."

"No, I shan't; I feel my health's declinin' every day. I don't know how I can stand it when I have to go to the poorhouse."

"We haven't gone there yet, Rachel."

"No, but it's comin' soon. We can't live on nothin'."

"Hark, there's Jack coming," said his mother, hearing a quick step outside.

"Yes, he's whistlin' just as if nothin' was the matter. He don't care anything for the awful condition of the family."

"You're wrong there, Rachel; Jack is trying every day to get something to do. He wants to do his part."

Rachel would have made a reply disparaging to Jack, but she had no chance, for our hero broke in at this instant.

"Well, Jack?" said his mother, inquiringly.

"I've got a plan, mother," he said.

"What's a boy's plan worth?" sniffed Aunt Rachel.

"Oh, don't be always hectorin' me, Aunt Rachel," said Jack, impatiently.

"Hectorin'! Is that the way my own nephew talks to me?"

"Well, it's so. You don't give a feller a chance. I'll tell you what I'm thinking of, mother. I've been talkin' with Tom Blake; he sells papers, and he tells me he makes sometimes a dollar a day. Isn't that good?"

"Yes, that is very good wages for a boy."

"I want to try it, too; but I've got to buy the papers first, you know, and I haven't got any money. So, if you'll lend me fifty cents, I'll try it this afternoon."

"You think you can sell them, Jack?"

"I know I can. I'm as smart as Tom Blake, any day."

"Pride goes before a fall!" remarked Rachel, by way of a damper. "Disappointment is the common lot."

"That's just the way all the time," said Jack, provoked.

"I've lived longer than you," began Aunt Rachel.

"Yes, a mighty lot longer," interrupted Jack. "I don't deny that."

"Now you're sneerin' at me on account of my age, Jack. Martha, how can you allow such things?"

"Be respectful, Jack."

"Then tell Aunt Rachel not to aggravate me so. Will you let me have the fifty cents, mother?"

"Yes, Jack. I think your plan is worth trying."

She took out half a dollar from her pocketbook and handed it to Jack.

"All right, mother. I'll see what I can do with it."

Jack went out, and Rachel looked more gloomy than ever.

"You'll never see that money again, you may depend on't, Martha," she said.

"Why not, Rachel?"

"Because Jack'll spend it for candy, or in some other foolish way."

"You are unjust, Rachel. Jack is not that kind of boy."

"I'd ought to know him. I've had chances enough."

"You never knew him to do anything dishonest."

"I suppose he's a model boy?"

"No, he isn't. He's got faults enough, I admit; but he wouldn't spend for his own pleasure money given him for buying papers."

"If he buys the papers, I don't believe he can sell them, so the money's wasted anyway," said Rachel, trying another tack.

"We will wait and see," said Mrs. Harding.

She saw that Rachel was in one of her unreasonable moods, and that it was of no use to continue the discussion.

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