u cannot pay
it I must foreclose the mortgage and sell the place," said Mr. Merton.

"In that case," said Mr. Bishop, "it will of course be sold at a great
sacrifice, and after the struggles I have made, my family will again
be homeless. It is hard. I only wish you had to earn your money as I
do mine; you might then know something of the hard life of a poor man.
If you could only in imagination, put yourself in my place, I think
you would have a little mercy on me."

"It is useless talking; I extended this one year, and I can do so no
longer," replied Mr. Merton, as he turned to his desk and continued
writing.

The poor man rose from his seat, and walked sadly out of Mr. Merton's
office. His last hope was gone. He had just recovered from a long
illness which had swallowed up the means with which he had intended to
make the last payment on his house. True, Mr. Merton had waited one
year when he failed to meet the demand owing to illness in his family,
and he had felt very much obliged to him for so doing. This year he
had been laid up for seven months, during which time he could earn
nothing, and all his savings were then needed for the support of his
family. Again he failed, and now he would again be homeless, and have
to begin the world anew. Had heaven forsaken him, and given him over
to the tender mercies of the wicked?

After he had left the office, Mr. Merton could not drive away from his
thoughts the remarks to which the poor man gave utterance, "I wish you
had to earn your money as I do mine."

In the midst of a row of figures, "Put yourself in my place" intruded.

Once after it had crossed his mind he laid down his pen, saying,
"Well, I think I should find it rather hard. I have a mind to drop in
there this afternoon and see how it fares with his family; that man
has aroused my curiosity."

About five o'clock he put on a gray wig and some old cast-off clothes,
and walked to the door. Mrs. Bishop, a pale, weary-looking woman
opened it. The poor old man requested permission to enter and rest a
while, saying he was very tired with his long journey, for he had
walked many miles that day.

Mrs. Bishop cordially invited him in, and gave him the best seat the
room afforded; she then began to make preparations for tea.

The old gentleman watched her attentively. He saw there was no
elasticity in her steps, no hope in her movements, and pity for her
began to steal into his heart. When her husband entered, her