nocked out all the compartments, and am
not going to keep things in weeks. I made up the deficit by taking two
dollars out of the reserve fund, and two dollars out of my ten-dollar
gold piece that Dr. George gave me on my birthday.

I have given the ginger-jar a note of hand for two dollars from the
cigar-box, and it has resumed business at the old stand. Compartment
four, cigar-box, which is perfectly innocent, as it was borrowed out of
house and home by compartment three, also had to give a note to the
sugar-bowl, and I made the ginger-jar give me a note for my two dollars
birthday-money.

Whether all these obligations will be met without lawsuits, I cannot
tell; but I know by the masterly manner in which I have fought my way
through these intricate affairs with the loss of only four dollars in
four weeks, that I possess decided business ability, and this gives me
courage to struggle on.

December 30, 188-.

. . . We are having hard times, dear old Margery, though I do not
regret coming to San Francisco, for mamma could not bear the slightest
noise or confusion, nor lift her hand to any sort of work, in her
present condition. At any rate, we came by Dr. George's orders, so my
conscience is clear. . . .

Mrs. Chadwick has sent us only sixty-five dollars this month, instead
of eighty-five. Some of the boarders are behind in their payments.
The Darlings have gone away, and "she hopes to do better next month."
Mamma cannot bear to press her, she is so kind and well-meaning; so do
not for the world mention the matter to Dr. George. I will write to
him when I must, not before.

Meanwhile I walk to school both ways, saving a dollar and a quarter a
month. Have found a cheaper laundry; one dollar more saved. Cut down
fruit bill; one dollar more. Blacked my white straw sailor with
shoe-blacking, trimmed it with two neckties and an old blackbird badly
molted; result perfectly hideous, but the sugar-bowl, clothing, and
sundry fund are out of debt and doing well. Had my faded gray dress
dyed black, and trimmed the jacket with pieces of my moth-eaten
cock's-feather boa; perfectly elegant, almost too gorgeous for my
humble circumstances. Mamma looks at me sadly when I don these ancient
garments, and almost wishes I had n't such "a wealthy look." I tell
her I expect the girls to say, when I walk into the school-yard on
Monday, "Who is this that cometh with dyed garments from Bozrah?"

Mamma has decided t