e would be but a mere
pittance left for four females to live on. Finally I broke in:

"Girls, my brain is not usually fertile, but a thought has been
growing--we are all well educated, but teaching is out of the
question, the supply is greater than the demand, but Lou, here, is
skilled with pencil and brush, and Cal has a genius for contrivance;
now why could you not paint and decorate some of the dainty trifles
you often make as gifts, and _sell_ them. _I_ always did have a notion
for cookery, which I shall proceed to put in practice, dismissing the
servants." Having delivered this little speech, I paused, breathless.

Cal clapped her hands, and Lou's brown eyes glowed. "Pen, you little
duck," and Cal pounced on me in an excess of joy.

"But," faltered Lou, "the mortgage."

"I thought of that too--our lady-like Louise shall go to that crusty
old creditor, and beg him to _renew_ it, and with what you girls earn
and what we save from the rent of the farm land (for we must live
economically) we will pay him the interest promptly." I will add, that
she did that very thing, and completely won over the hard-hearted
fellow with her sweet, earnest manner.

So to work we went, and the sitting-room was converted into a studio,
littered with papers, books, gay ribbons and glue-pots. But some
exquisite creations came out of that chaos. I had visited the
aforesaid Aunt Pen the previous winter, in New York city, and at the
American Specialty House had been enchanted with the many novel and
beautiful pieces of decorated work. All would be entirely new in
_this_ part of the world, and our idea was, to take orders from the
near towns for their Holiday trade. It was now only May and we would
have plenty of time. Cal, who, with her brusque, honest ways,
determined face, and curly, short hair, was our man of business, took
samples of our work in to the various towns, receiving large orders in
almost every instance.

Happy and busy as bees we worked, and began to feel quite important,
as the pile grew high, of white boxes, filled with delicate satin
souvenirs for wedding and birthdays, Christmas tokens of lovely
design, little poems with dainty painted covers, blotters and thought
books, beautifully decorated, all of which found ready sale. The
little mother's sad eyes began to brighten, and Cal would say:

"Marmo, we can take care of you almost as good as sons, can't we?"

"God bless my daughters," would be the reply.

Louise h