Say no more about
this money, Jane; you will get it whenever it can be spared."
I did not see my father again until tea-time. Occasionally, business
engagements pressed upon him so closely that he did not come home at
the usual hour for dining. He looked pale--weary--almost haggard.
"Dear father, are you sick?" said I, laying a hand upon him, and
gazing earnestly into his countenance.
"I do not feel very well," he replied, partly averting his face, as
if he did not wish me to read its expression too closely. "I have
had a weary day."
"You must take more recreation," said I. "This excessive devotion to
business is destroying your health. Why will you do it, father?"
He merely sighed as he passed onwards, and ascended to his own room.
At tea-time I observed that his face was unusually sober. His
silence was nothing uncommon, and so that passed without remark from
any one.
On the next day Jane received the hundred dollars, which was spent
for a shawl like mine. This brought the sunshine back to her face.
Her moody looks, I saw, disturbed my father.
From this time, the hand which had ever been ready to supply all our
wants real or imaginary, opened less promptly at our demands. My
father talked occasionally of retrenchment and economy when some of
our extravagant bills came in; but we paid little heed to his
remarks on this head. Where could we retrench? In what could we
economize? The very idea was absurd.
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