“Poor child,” said Mrs. Wynn, brushing away the tears, “I have just been to see her, and she don’t look to me as if she’d last the week out.  I believe she is far more dangerous than the doctor thinks.”

“And if she dies, what will they do with that girl of Lynn’s?” queried Mrs. Brier.  “She’ll have to come on the town.  I knew it was a perfect piece of folly for that schoolmistress to take her to support, with only her small salary.  It’s just as I predicted.  Her strength has failed, and she can’t do nothing more.  ‘Be just before you are generous,’ is my motto.”

Mrs. Brier never said a truer word than that in her whole life, for she had never been guilty of many generous or self-denying deeds, and no one could accuse her of erring in that respect.

The different benevolent Societies also met, and discussed the probability of little Ruth Lynn’s being thrown upon their generosity.  They finally decided that, in case of any such calamitous ending to the madness of Clemence Graystone, the child should be turned over to the proper authorities of the village, and they would wash their hands of the whole affair.

Their fears proved entirely groundless.  By some inexplicable means, the two waifs, thrown thus strangely upon the protection of Widow Hardyng, managed to exist without either the aid or sympathy of the rest of the town.  And Clemence, as the days grew cooler, rallied, and became rapidly convalescent.

With returning strength, came again the old anxiety for the future.  She knew that her generous hostess, though willing to share her all with them, ought not to be thus burdened.  Her means were limited, and the strictest economy was necessary to make their narrow income meet their present wants.  Clemence realized that her illness had brought additional expense, which she knew not how to meet.  The doctor’s bill alone, which she had not the means to meet, was appalling; besides, there were others clamoring for a settlement of their dues.  Mrs. Hardyng had repeatedly cautioned her not to retard her recovery by brooding over her unhappy position, and had taken these obligations upon herself.

In her feeble state of health, it was impossible for Clemence to undertake any employment.  She was almost in despair.  After all her superhuman efforts, she seemed placed in a worse predicament than when she first commenced to labor for her bread, and there was now another dependant upon her efforts.  Long before she was really able, Clemence had begun to employ herself upon different articles of fancy work, such as she thought she could dispose of in Waveland.

She managed, by this means, to obtain, from time to time, small sums of money, which, if they did not materially aid her, at least made her feel a little more independent.  Among other things, which her friend suggested that she might be able to dispose of to advantage, was a prettily shaped basket of some frosty white material, whose glittering, transparent beauty was relieved by bright-tinted flowers, with long, creeping vines, and leaves of a vivid green.  It took some time for its completion, and when it was finished, Clemence hoped that its extreme beauty would captivate the eyes of somebody who had means to pay somewhat of its real value.