Mrs. Halliburton struggled on. A struggle, my reader, that it is to be hoped, for your comfort's sake, you have never experienced, and never will. She had learnt the stitch for the back of the gloves, and Mr. Lynn supplied her with a machine and with work. But she could not do it quickly as yet; though it was a hopeful day for her when she found that her weekly amounted to six shillings.  
Mrs. Reece paid her twenty shillings a week. Or rather, Dobbs: for Dobbs was paymaster-general. Of that, Jane could use (she had made a close calculation) six shillings, putting by fourteen for rent and taxes. Her taxes were very light, part of them being paid by the landlord, as was the custom with some houses in Helstonleigh. But for this, the rent would have been less. Sorely as she was, by hunger, by cold, almost by starvation, Jane was in leaving the fourteen shillings intact. She had suffered too much from non-payment of the last rent, not to be prepared with the next. But—the endurance and !—how great they were! And she suffered far more for her children than for herself.
 
One night, towards the middle of February, she felt very downhearted: almost as if she could not struggle on much longer. With her own earnings and the six shillings taken from Mrs. Reece's money she could count little more than twelve shillings weekly, and everything had to be found out of it. Coals, candles, washing—that is, the soap, firing, etc., necessary for Miss Betsy Carter to do it with; the boys' shoe-mending and other trifles, besides food. You will not, therefore, be surprised to hear that on this night they had nothing in the house but part of a loaf of bread. Jane was resolute in one thing—not to go into debt. Mrs. Buffle would have given credit, probably other shops also; but Jane believed that her sole chance of the struggle eventually was by keeping debt, even debt, away. They had this morning eaten bread for breakfast; they had eaten potatoes and salt for dinner; and now, tea-time, there was bread again. All Jane had in her pocket was twopence, which must be kept for milk for the following morning; so they were drinking water now.
 
They were round the fire; two of the boys kneeling on the ground to get the better blaze, thankful they had a fire at all. Their lessons were over for the day. William had been well brought on by his father, in Greek, Latin, Euclid, and in English generally—in short, in the branches necessary to a good education. Frank and Gar were forward also; indeed, Frank, for his age, was a very good Latin scholar. But how could they do much good or make much progress by themselves? William helped his brothers as well as he could, but it was somewhat profitless work; and Jane was all too conscious that they needed to be at school. Altogether, her heart was sore within her.
 
Another thing was beginning to worry her—a fear lest her brother should not be able to send the rent. She had counted upon it; but, now that the time of its promised receipt was at hand, fears and doubts arose. She was on it now—now, as she sat there at her work, in the of the early spring evening. If the money did not come, all she could do would be to go to Mr. Ashley, tell him of her ill luck, and that he must take the things at last. They must turn out, wanderers on the wide earth; no——
 
A cry interrupted her dream and recalled her to reality. It came from Jane, who was seated on a stool, her head leaning against the side of the mantel-piece.
 
"She is crying, mamma," cried quick Frank; and Janey whispered something into Frank's ear, the cry deepening into .
 
"Mamma, she's crying because she's hungry."
 
"Janey, dear, I have nothing but bread. You know it. Could you eat a bit?"
 
"I want something else," Janey. "Some meat, or some pudding. It is such a long time since we had any. I am tired of bread; I am very hungry."
 
There came an echoing cry from the other side of the fireplace. Gar had laid his head down on the floor, and he now broke out, also.
 
"I am hungry too. I don't like bread any more than Janey does. When shall we have something nice?"
 
Jane gathered them to her, one in each arm, them with soft , her heart aching, her own sobs choked down, one single comfort present to her—that God knew what she had to bear.
 
Almost she began to fear for her own health. Would the intense anxiety, combined with the want of sufficient food, tell upon her? Would her nights tell upon her? Would her grief for the loss of her husband—a grief not the less keenly felt because she did not parade it—tell upon her? All that lay in the future.
 
She rose the next morning early to her work; she always had to rise early—the boys and Jane setting the breakfast. Breakfast! Putting the bread upon the table and taking in the milk. For twopence they had a quart of skimmed milk, and were glad to get it. Her head was heavy, her frame hot, the result of inward fever, her limbs were tired before the day began; worse than all, there was that utter weariness of mind which predisposes a sufferer from it to lie down and die. "This will never do," thought Jane; "I must bear up."
 
A dispute between Frank and Gar! They were good, affectionate boys; but little tempers must break out now and then. In trying to settle it, Jane burst into tears. It put an end to the more effectually than anything else could have done. The boys looked blank with , ............