“But something will turn up for us, Henry, I know it will,” said Ellen, trying to smile encouragingly, although her heart was heavy in her bosom.

Her husband shook his head, doubtingly, and then all was gloomy and oppressive silence.  For nearly an hour, no word was spoken by either.  Each mind was busy with painful thoughts, and one with fearful forebodings of evil.  At the end of that time, the husband took up his hat and went out.  For a long, long time after, Ellen sat in dreamy, sad abstraction, holding her babe to her breast.  From this state, a sense of duty roused her, and laying her infant on the bed,—­for they had not yet been able to spare money for a cradle,—­she began to busy herself in her domestic duties.  This brought some little relief.

About eleven o’clock Jane came in with her usual cheerful, almost happy face, bringing in her hand a stout bundle.  Her countenance changed in its expression to one of concern, the moment her eyes rested upon her sister’s face, and she laid her bundle on a chair quickly, as if she half desired to keep it out of Ellen’s sight.

“What is the matter, Ellen?” she asked, with tender concern, the moment she had closed the door.

Ellen could not reply; her heart was too full.  But she leaned her head upon her sister’s shoulder, and, for the first time since she had heard the sad news of the morning, burst into tears.  Jane was surprised, and filled with anxious concern.  She waited until this ebullition of feeling in some degree abated, and then said, in a tone still more tender than that in which she had first spoken,—­

“Ellen, dear sister! tell me what has happened?”

“I am foolish, sister,” at length, said Ellen, looking up, and endeavoring to dry her tears.  “But I cannot help it.  Henry was discharged from the shop this morning; and now, what are we to do?  We have nothing ahead, and I am afraid he will not be able to get anything to do here, or within many miles of the village.”

“That is bad, Ellen,” replied Jane, while a shadow fell upon her face, but a few moments before so glowing and happy.  And that was nearly all she could say; for she did not wish to offer false consolation, and she could think of no genuine words of comfort.  After a while, each grew more composed and less reserved; and then the whole matter was talked over, and all that Jane could say, that seemed likely to soothe and give hope to Ellen’s mind, was said with earnestness and affection.

“What have you there?” at length asked Ellen, glancing towards the chair upon which Jane had laid her bundle.

Jane paused a moment, as if in self-communion, and then said—­

“Only a pair of blankets, and a couple of calico dresses that I have been out buying.”

“Let me look at them,” said Ellen, in as cheerful a voice as she could assume.