“You may stay with me for three dollars a week, if you cannot pay four,” said Mrs. Forbush, forgetting her own troubles in her sympathy with our hero.

“No, Mrs. Forbush, you can’t afford it.  You need money as much as I do, and perhaps more; for you have more than yourself to support.”

“Yes, poor Julia!” sighed the mother.  “She is born to a heritage of poverty.  Heaven only knows how we are going to get along.”

“God will provide for us, Mrs. Forbush,” said Philip.  “I don’t know how it is, but in spite of my troubles I feel cheerful.  I have a confidence that things will come out well, though I cannot possibly imagine how.”

“You are young, and youth is more inclined to be hopeful than maturer years.  However, I do not wish to dampen your cheerfulness.  Keep it, and let it comfort you.”

If Phil could have heard the conversation that took place between Mrs. Pitkin and Alonzo after their departure, he might have felt less hopeful.

“It is dreadfully annoying that that woman should turn up after all these years!” said Mrs. Pitkin, in a tone of disgust.

“Is she really your cousin, ma?” asked Alonzo.

“Yes, but she disgraced herself by a low marriage, and was cast off.”

“That disposes of her, then?”

“I don’t know.  If she could meet Uncle Oliver, I am afraid she would worm herself into his confidence and get him to do something for her.  Then it is unfortunate that she and that boy have fallen in with each other.  She may get him to speak to Uncle Oliver in her behalf.”

“Isn’t he working for pa?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you get pa to discharge him while Uncle Oliver is away?”

“Well thought of, Alonzo!  I will speak to your father this very evening.”

CHAPTER XXII.

Phil is “Bounced.”

Saturday, as is usual in such establishments, was pay-day at the store of Phil’s employers.  The week’s wages were put up in small envelopes and handed to the various clerks.

When Phil went up to the cashier to get his money he put it quietly into his vest-pocket.

Daniel Dickson, the cashier, observing this, said: 

“Brent, you had better open your envelope.”

Rather surprised, Phil nevertheless did as requested.

In the envelope, besides the five-dollar bill representing his week’s salary, he found a small slip of paper, on which was written these ominous words: 

“Your services will not be required after this week.”  Appended to this notice was the name of the firm.

Phil turned pale, for to him, embarrassed as he was, the loss of his place was a very serious matter.

“What does this mean, Mr. Dickson?” he asked quickly.

“I can’t inform you,” answered the cashier, smiling unpleasantly, for he was a selfish man who sympathized with no one, and cared for no one as long as he himself remained prosperous.