despair, as she looked at her prostrate son, "for all I
can manage to earn will barely make up the rent--if it does even that--
and father, you know, drinks nearly all he makes. God help us!"

"God _will_ help us," said Hetty, sitting down on the floor and gently
stroking the back of her mother's hand, "for He sent the trouble, and
will hear us when we cry to Him."

"Pray to Him, then, Hetty, for it's no use askin' me to join you. I
can't pray. An' don't let your father hear, else he'll be wild."

The poor girl bent her head on her knees as she sat, and prayed
silently. Her mother and brother, neither of whom had any faith in
prayer, remained silent, while her father, breathing stertorously in the
corner, slept the sleep of the drunkard.

CHAPTER FOUR.

SAMUEL TWITTER ASTONISHES MRS. TWITTER AND HER FRIENDS.

In a former chapter we described, to some extent, the person and
belongings of a very poor man with five thousand a year. Let us now
make the acquaintance of a very rich one with an income of five hundred.

He has already introduced himself to the reader under the name of Samuel
Twitter.

On the night of which we write Mrs Twitter happened to have a "few
friends" to tea. And let no one suppose that Mrs Twitter's few friends
were to be put off with afternoon tea--that miserable invention of
modern times--nor with a sham meal of sweet warm water and thin bread
and butter. By no means. We have said that Samuel Twitter was rich,
and Mrs Twitter, conscious of her husband's riches, as well as grateful
for them, went in for the substantial and luxurious to an amazing
extent.

Unlimited pork sausages and inexhaustible buttered toast, balanced with
muffins or crumpets, was her idea of "tea." The liquid was a secondary
point--in one sense--but it was always strong. It was the only strong
liquid in fact allowed in the house, for Mr Twitter, Mrs Twitter, and
all the little Twitters were members of the Blue Ribbon Army; more or
less enthusiastic according to their light and capacity.

The young Twitters descended in a graduated scale from Sammy, the
eldest, (about sixteen), down through Molly, and Willie, and Fred, and
Lucy, to Alice the so-called "baby"--though she was at that time a
remarkably robust baby of four years.

Mrs Twitter's few friends were aware of her tendencies, and appreciated
her hospitality, insomuch that the "few" bade fair to develop by degrees
into many.

Well, Mrs Twitter had