“Have they gone?” asked Constance, in a low, almost whispering voice.

“Yes, my child, they have gone at last.”

“And what have they left us?” inquired Mrs. Morton somewhat anxiously.

“Nothing but the barest necessaries for housekeeping.”

“They did not take our carpets and—­”

“Yes, Mary,” said Mr. Morton interrupting her, “every article in the parlors has been set down as unnecessary.”

“O, father!” exclaimed the eldest daughter, “can it be possible?”

“Yes, my child, it is possible.  We are left poor, indeed.  But for all that I would not care, if they had only left us Willie’s portrait!”

Instantly the mother and daughters rose to their feet, with blanched cheeks, and eyes staring wildly into the father’s face.

“O no, not Willie’s portrait, surely!” the mother at length said, mournfully.  “We cannot give that up.  It is of no comparative value to others, and is all in all to us.”

“I plead with them to spare us that.  But it was no use,” Mr. Morton replied.  “The tenderest ties in nature were nothing to them in comparison with a hundred and fifty dollars.”

“But surely,” urged Constance, “the law will protect us in the possession of the picture.  Who ever heard of a portrait being seized upon by a creditor?”

“It is a cruel omission; but nevertheless, Constance, there is no law to protect us in keeping it.”

“But they shall not have it!” Mary said indignantly.  “I will take it away this very night, where they can never find it.”

“That would be doing wrong my child,” Mr. Morton replied.  “I owe these men, and this picture, they say, will bring a hundred and fifty dollars.  If they claim it, then, I cannot honestly withhold it.  Let us, then, my dear children, resolve to keep our consciences clear of wrong, and endeavor patiently to bear with our afflictions.  They can only result in good to us so far as we humbly acquiesce in them.  Nothing happens by chance.  Every event affecting us, I have often told you, is ordered or permitted by Divine Providence, and is intended to make us better and wiser.  This severest trial of all, if patiently borne, will, I am sure, result in good.”

But, even while he tried to encourage and bear up the drooping spirits of his family, his own heart sunk within him at the thought of losing the portrait of his child.

One week sufficed to transfer his property into the hands of the individuals appointed to receive it.  He sought to make no unnecessary delay, and, therefore, it was quickly done.  At the end of that time, he removed his family into a small house at the northern extremity of the city, and furnished it with the scanty furniture that, as an insolvent debtor the law allowed him to claim.  Ere he left his beautiful mansion with his wife and children, they all assembled in the parlour where still hung Willie’s sweet portrait.  The calm, innocent face of the child