“It will be, maybe--a little--hard,” Elsie assented, nodding her head; “but, if that’s all, mother?”
“It will not be all,” said Mrs. Buchanan, once more shaking her head. “It will be day by day, and hour by hour. We will have to do without everything, you and me. Your father, he must not be disturbed, more than we can help; or how is he to do his work? which is work far more important than yours or mine. And Rodie is a growing laddie, wanting much meat, and nothing must interfere with his learning either, or how could we put him out creditably in the world? I tell you it is you and me that will have to put our sheulders to the wheel. Janet is a good, sensible woman, I will take her into my confidence, and she’ll not mind a little more work; but, Betty--oh, my dear, I think we’ll have to give up Betty: and you know what that means.”
“It means just the right thing to mean!” cried Elsie, with her countenance glowing. “I am nearly as old as Betty, and I have never done a hand’s turn in my life. It would be strange if I couldn’t do as much for love, as Betty does for wages.”
“Ten pounds a year and her keep, which will count, maybe, for fifteen more. Oh Elsie, my dear, to think that I should make a drudge of my own bairn for no more saving than that.”
“It is a pity it is not a hundred pounds,” cried Elsie, half-laughing, half-crying; “but in four years, mother, it would make up a hundred pounds. Fancy me making up a hundred pounds! There will be no living with me for pride.”
Mrs. Buchanan shook her head, and put her handkerchief to her eyes, but joined in, too, with a tremulous laugh to this wonderful thought.
“And there’s your father all his lane up the stair,” she said, regretfully, “with nobody to speak to! when you and me are here together taking comfort, and making a laugh at it. There’s many things, after all, in which we are better off than men, Elsie. But why he should debar himself from just the only comfort there is, talking it over with me--what’s that?”
It was a noise up-stairs, in the direction of Mr. Buchanan’s study, and they both sprang to their feet: though, after all, it was not a very dreadful noise, only the hasty opening of a window, and the fall of a chair, as if knocked down by some sudden movement. They stood for a moment, looking into each other’s suddenly blanched faces, an awful suggestion leaping from eye to eye. Had it been too much for his brain? Had he fallen? Had something dreadful happened? Elsie moved to open the door, while her mother still stood holding by the table; but the momentary horror was quieted by the sound of his steps overhead. They heard him come out of his room to the head of the stairs, and held their breath. Then there was a cry, “Mary! Mary!” Mrs. Buchanan turned upon her daughter, with a sparkle in her eye.