ive up so excellent a means of
earning money.

Poor Charlotte! The thoughts her husband considered so mean, so untrue,
so unworthy, had become by this time part of her very being. Oh! must
the children suffer because unrighteous men enjoyed what was rightfully
theirs?

For the first time, the very first time in all her life, she felt
discontented with her Angus. If only he were a little more everyday, a
little more practical; if only he would go to the bottom of this
mystery, and set her mind at rest!

She went about her morning duties in a state of mental friction and
aggravation, and, as often happens, on this very morning when she seemed
least able to bear it, came the proverbial last straw. Anne, the little
maid, put in her head at the parlor door.

"Ef you please, 'em, is Harold to wear 'em shoes again? There's holes
through and through of 'em, and it's most desp'rate sloppy out of doors
this mornin'."

Mrs. Home took the little worn-out shoes in her hand; she saw at a
glance that they were quite past mending.

"Leave them here, Anne," she said. "You are right, he cannot wear these
again. I will go out at once and buy him another pair."

The small maid disappeared, and Charlotte put her hand into her pocket.
She drew out her purse with a sinking heart. Was there money enough in
it to buy the necessary food for the day's consumption, and also to get
new shoes for Harold? A glance showed her but too swiftly there was not.
She never went on credit for anything--the shoes must wait, and Harold
remain a prisoner in the house that day. She went slowly up to the
nursery: Daisy and baby could go out and Harold should come down to the
parlor to her.

But one glance at her boy's pale face caused her heart to sink. He was a
handsome boy--she thought him aristocratic, fit to be the son of a
prince--but to-day he was deadly pale, with that washy look which
children who pine for fresh air so often get. He was standing in rather
a moping attitude by the tiny window; but at sight of his mother he flew
to her.

"Mother, Anne says I'm to have new shoes. Have you got them? I am so
glad."

No, she could not disappoint her boy. A sudden idea darted through her
brain. She would ask Miss Mitchell, the drawing-room boarder, to lend
her the three-and-sixpence which the little shoes would cost. It was the
first time she had ever borrowed, and her pride rose in revolt at even
naming the paltry sum--but, for the sake of her boy'