I've made so
many lately it's become a habit. I'm tired out, dad, I'm going to bed." Her
father looked at her anxiously.
"You're seeing things out of proportion," he said. "You've worked so hard
you're getting stale. You ought to get out of it for a while."
"I can't!" she answered sharply. "You don't know--you don't even guess--how
it takes every hour--all the demands!"
"Where's Allan these days?"
"Working," was her harsh reply. "Trying to keep his hospital going with
half its staff. The woman who was backing him is giving her money to
Belgium instead."
"Do you see much of him?"
"Every day. Let's drop it. Shall we?"
"All right, my dear--"
And they said good-night ...
* * * * *
In the meantime, in the house, Edith had tried to scrimp and save, but it
was very difficult. Her children had so many needs, they were all growing
up so fast. Each month brought fresh demands on her purse, and the fund
from the sale of her belongings had been used up long ago. Her sole
resource was the modest allowance her father gave her for running the
house, and she had not asked him for more. She had put off trouble from
month to month. But one evening early in March, when he gave her the
regular monthly check, she said hesitatingly:
"I'm very sorry, father dear, but I'm afraid we'll need more money this
month." He glanced up from his paper:
"What's the matter?" She gave him a forced little smile, and her father
noticed the gray in her hair.
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