d with when the hard times came. Bernard was so
sanguine, however, that she consented to his project. He spoke to Mr.
Crosswell on the subject; that gentleman became interested, succeeded in
obtaining a type-writer for Mrs. Farrell on easy terms, and promised to
send her any extra copying he might have. The manipulation of the
machine did not, indeed, come quite as naturally as Bernard predicted,
but after a few weeks of patient practice she mastered it sufficiently to
produce a neat-looking page. Bernard brought her all the work she could
do; it was well paid for, and a more prosperous season seemed to have
dawned upon the little home.

Just at this time the children took scarlet fever at school. They had
the disease lightly, but what anxiety the mother endured! Thank God,
they got through it safely; but there was the doctor's bill to be
settled, and funds were at a low ebb once more. To cap the climax, when
the house had been thoroughly fumigated by the board of health, and Mrs.
Farrell was prepared to take up her occupation again, an attack of
rheumatism crippled her fingers and rendered them almost powerless. Then
it was that, worn out and disheartened, she broke down and cried:

"Oh! why does not God help us?"

Her son's usually happy face wore an expression of discouragement also as
she turned to him with the appeal. His lips twitched nervously; but in a
moment the trustfulness which she had taught him was at hand to comfort
her.

"Indeed, mother, He will--He _does_," said Bernard tenderly, though in
the matter-of-fact manner which he knew would best arouse her. "You are
all tired out, or you would not speak in that way. You must have a good
rest. Keep the rooms warm, so that you will not take any more cold, and
before long you will be able to rattle the type-writer at a greater speed
than ever. That reminds me, mother," he continued--seeing that she was
beginning to recover herself, and wishing to divert her thoughts,--"one
of the things we have to be thankful for is that this house is easily
heated. It beats all the way coal does last here! The ton we got two
months ago isn't gone yet,"

"That is the way coal lasts when there is not any one to steal it, as
there was in the flat, where the cellars were not properly divided off,"
answered Mrs. Farrell, brightening up.

"No, there's nobody living immediately around here whom I'd suspect of
being mean enough to steal coal," returned Bernard, car