may take to make a favourable sale of this house, but in the meanwhile we can't afford to keep two servants. I'm sorry, Lucy; I'm sorry; but it's a matter of economy to-day, not economy to-morrow. I've thought it all out," my brother continued, beginning now to pace up and down the room. "I know Nellie has been with us twenty years. We shall miss her; but she's not strong, she can't cook or wash. We must have a good young Irish girl—five dollars a week—not more. It means a big change this time, you see. I had hoped to avoid such a course as this, but if we are to escape a worse catastrophe—"
I don't know what Alec went on talking about as he walked up and down that sitting-room floor; I don't know how long he continued explaining, and trying to make clear to me the seriousness of our situation; I don't know; I really don't know. I sat stunned and silent in my chair, not stirring a muscle. Sell our home! Why, Father had built it. I had been born in it. Dismiss Nellie! Why, Nellie had known my mother. Nellie was part of the foundation of our lives. I couldn't take in the succeeding facts because those two were stuck in my throat. I felt like crying out, "Don't, don't cram any more in. I'm choking!" But Alec kept right on.
"The stable, of course, I shall close immediately. We mustn't keep a horse. I shall have to get rid of Dixie."
It isn't a nice figure, but at that last announcement I gulped up all that I had tried to swallow before.
"O Alec," I interrupted, "poor little Dixie! Please, please, please don't sell Dixie!" I pleaded. "Please don't sell our home," I cried. "Why, where
