“Oh yes, Governor! —­oh yes!”

“Then you shall.”

He went himself first to make arrangements, which he well knew were very necessary.  That one little attic room of his and that closet which was at once Mother Hubbard’s cupboard and his clothes press, could never do anything for the comfort of his little sister.  He went home and electrified Mrs. Nettley with the intelligence that he must leave her and seek larger quarters, which he knew her house could not give.

“To be sure,” said Mrs. Nettley in a brown study, —­ “the kitchen’s the kitchen, —­ and there must be a parlour, —­ and George’s painting room, —­ and the other’s my bedroom, —­ and George sleeps in that other little back attic. —­ Well, Mr. Landholm, let’s think about it.  We’ll see what can be done.  We can’t let you go away —­ George would rather sleep on the roof.”

“He would do what is possible, Mrs. Nettley; and so would I.”

It was found to be possible that “the other little back attic” should be given up.  Winthrop never knew how, and was not allowed to know.  But it was so given that he could not help taking.  It was plain that they would have been worse straitened than in their accommodations, if he had refused their kindness and gone somewhere else.

Mrs. Nettley would gladly have done what she could towards furnishing the same little back attic for Winnie’s use; but on this point Winthrop was firm.  He gathered himself the few little plain things the room wanted, from the cheapest sources whence they could be obtained; even that was a serious drain upon his purse.  He laid in a further supply of fuel, for Winnie’s health, he knew, would not stand the old order of things, —­ a fire at meal-times and an old cloak at other times when it was not very cold.  Happily it was late in the season and much more fire would not be needed; a small stock of wood he bought, and carried up and bestowed in the closet; he could put his clothes in Winnie’s room now and the closet need no longer act as a wardrobe.  A few very simple stores to add to Mother Hubbard’s shelves, and Winthrop had stretched his limited resources pretty well, and had not much more left than would take him to Wut-a-qut-o, and bring him back again.

“I don’t see but I shall have to sell the farm,” said Mr. Landholm on this next visit of his son’s.

“Why, sir?”

“To pay off the mortgage —­ that mortgage to Mr. Haye.”

Winthrop was silent.

“I can’t meet the interest on it; —­I haven’t been able to pay any these five years,” said Mr. Landholm with a sigh.  “If he don’t foreclose, I must. —­ I guess I’ll take Asahel and go to the West.”

“Don’t do it hastily, father.”

“No,” said Mr. Landholm with another sigh; —­ “but it’ll come to that.”

Winthrop had no power to help it.  And the money had been borrowed for him and Rufus.  Most for Rufus.  But it had been for them; and with this added thought of sorrowful care, he reached Mannahatta with his little sister.