Amidst the general laughter which arises at this good-natured sparring between the two old men, they rise to take their leave; and while Mr. Ned intrusts to Honor a courteous message to her mother to the effect that he and his brother will shortly do themselves the honour of calling upon her, when they shall hope to find her sufficiently recovered to receive them, Mr. Ben is entreating Doris to allow Daisy and Bobby to go to tea with them the next day.
"Master Dick here would consider himself too old to join such a juvenile party, I expect," says the old man, patting him on the back kindly; "but we mean to ask you all to come and spend an evening with us soon, if you can put up with two such old fogies as Brother Ned and myself for hosts. We must have someone from the town to come and tune the piano; and then, perhaps, my brother will play his piece to you--eh, Ned?"
"Certainly, Ben; but then we must also bring down that wonderful picture of yours for the young ladies to see. Miss Honor might perhaps take some very useful hints from it;" and with that parting shot Mr. Ned gives Mr. Benjamin his arm, and they trot down the steps together, away down the garden, and into the road.
Things go on quietly enough for some time, but as each day comes round it is pretty sure to bring with it some little trial and vexation; trifling in itself perhaps, but none the less wearying to the three girls, who with hopeful hearts are striving laboriously to cut and contrive in order to get the utmost out of every halfpenny.
Honor has shown from the first an almost dogged determination to have nothing brought into the house that cannot be paid for at once.
"We know to a farthing what our income is," she says quietly and firmly; "and what we cannot afford to have we must learn to do without."
Nevertheless it goes to the girl's heart when, having had to draw perhaps from the little sum set aside for the week's living for some other incidental expense, she has to say, "No meat to-day, girls and boys; we must make our dinners from potatoes and bread and butter."
"And very good fare too," some will say perhaps; but for girls and boys who have been brought up in the lap of luxury, and who in their sudden transition from affluence to well-nigh poverty have retained their usual healthy appetites, it is a little trying it must surely be allowed. To Doris and Honor the fact of having to deny themselves meat, and sometimes other things which are almost necessaries, is no great trial so long as they can somehow or other make both ends meet; but it does pain them to see that Molly's and Dick's faces are no longer so round and plump as formerly, and that little Daisy pushes away her plate of untempting food from before her sometimes, plaintively saying she is "not hungry to-day." The novelty of the situation having worn off also to a great extent, the spirits of Doris and Molly especially flag visibly at times; and while Doris sighs over her work with a generally listless air, Molly grows despondent, and even a little cross, as she goes about her daily duties. Poor Honor makes brave and determined efforts to preserve both her cheerfulness and her temper for the sake of all, but there are two little upright lines between her straight brows which tell of constant care and anxious thought; and many a quiet tear is shed when, tired in body and anxious in mind, the girl finds herself alone in her room with no one to witness her giving way to her overwrought feelings.