the narrow halls and small rooms, shut off from proper light and air, gave one a sense of suffocation.  The furnishings were of the scantiest.  Jimmie having incurred certain heavy debts, reckoning that the palmy days would always last, had been forced to sell his household effects to satisfy pressing creditors, so now they had to be satisfied with as few odd cheap pieces as they could manage with—­a plain deal dining-table and a few ricketty chairs.  Times were indeed hard.  The shipping firm had also made a cut in Jimmie’s salary, reducing him from $14 to $13 a week, so even with the $5 which Virginia contributed to the expenses, strict economy had to be exercised in order to make both ends meet.

Fanny did her best to look cheerful under these depressing conditions, but there were days when her patience was sorely tried and when she found herself regretting that Virginia had “taken it so particular” with Mr. Stafford.  Of course, they all suffered by the sacrifice, but most of the burden fell upon her.  She certainly had the worst of it.  Virginia, away all day, at least escaped the household drudgery.  It was a terrible existence—­scrubbing floors and washing dishes from morning till night, seeing nobody, beginning to lose hope that she would ever see a change for the better.

To-day she was feeling particularly tired and discouraged.  She had been kept busy all morning looking after the baby’s wants and cleaning the kitchen stove, and the exertion required by both duties had completely exhausted her.  Wiping her grimy hands on her apron, she sank listlessly down on a chair in the kitchen to rest a while.  It could not be for long.  The afternoon was well advanced.  Jim and Virginia would soon be home.  She must think presently of getting dinner.

The baby slept soundly in her little crib undisturbed by the noise of the wintry gale outdoors.  Fanny sighed as she fondly gazed on the chubby little face.  How unfair to bring such an innocent into the world, only to inherit trouble and want!  What had become of the brilliant prospects for her daughter once held out when Virginia was a rich man’s wife?  Instead of improving, their situation grew steadily worse.  Jim was making no progress.  Instead of his salary being increased, it was always being reduced.  He was the kind of man who made progress backwards, like a crab.  He was not practical—­that was the trouble.  If only he had fewer ideas, perhaps he would make more money.  It was very discouraging.  But what good did grumbling ever do?  The work had to be done and the quicker she finished the stove, the better.

Wearily she rose from her seat and with a last look at the baby, was going towards the kitchen, when suddenly the doorbell rang violently.  The baby started in its sleep.  Indignant at the noise Fanny went and opened.

“Is that you, Jim?” she asked crossly.

“Yes,” he called out.

“Well, I like your nerve!” she ejaculated.  “Couldn’t you make less noise?  You woke the baby!”