he family had been supported chiefly by Ben's wages in the mill.
His aunt got some sewing to do, but her earnings were comparatively small.

There was one thing Ben dreaded, and that was, to tell his aunt
about his loss of employment. He knew how she would take it.
She was apt to be despondent, and this news would undoubtedly
depress her. As for Ben, he was of a sanguine, cheerful
temperament, and always ready to look at the bright side, if there
was any bright side at all.

His little cousin Tony, seven years old, ran out to meet him.

"What makes you late, Ben?" he asked.

"I am not so very late, Tony," answered Ben, taking the little
fellow's hand.

"Yes you are; it's half-past five o'clock, and supper's been
ready quarter of an hour."

"I see how it is, Tony. You are hungry, and that has made you
tired of waiting."

"No, I am not, but I wanted you to come home. It's always
pleasanter when you are at home."

"I am glad you like my company. Good evening, Aunt Jane."

"Good evening, Ben. Sit right down at the table."

"Wait till I've washed my hands, aunt. I came home by Mr.
Watson's, and that made me a little longer. Have you heard
any news?"

Ben asked this, thinking it possible that his aunt had already
heard of the discharge of some of the factory hands; but her
answer satisfied him that she had not.

"Butter's a cent higher a pound," said Mrs. Bradford. "I declare,
things seem to be going up all the time. Thirsty-five cents a
pound! It really seems sinful to ask such a price."

"I wish that wasn't the worst of it," thought Ben.

"I'm afraid even at twenty-five cents it will be hard for us to
pay for butter, if I don't get something to do soon."

"I guess I won't tell Aunt Jane till after supper," Ben decided.
"After a good cup of tea, perhaps it won't make her feel so
low-spirited."

So he ate his supper, chatting merrily with his little cousin all
the time, just as if he had nothing on his mind. Even his aunt
smiled from time to time at his nonsense, catching the contagion
of his cheerfulness.

"I wish you'd split a little wood for me, Ben," said Mrs. Bradford,
as our hero rose from the supper table. "I've had some ironing to
do this afternoon, and that always takes off the fuel faster."

"All right, Aunt Jane," said Ben.

"I guess I'll wait till I've finished the wood before telling her,"
thought Ben. "It won't be any worse than now."

Tony went into the woodshed, to kee