I BECAME A FLORIST. 7 



was my brother Joseph who had said this. He lives near 

 by. He is a married man, with a large family, and is far 

 from rich. Doubtless he was right in what he said. I did 

 not know how that was. I was in too much trouble to 

 think of anything then. 



" Joseph," I said, " give me time to think. Wait a few 

 days, and I will talk with you again." Going to my room, 

 I sat down to think. Yes, to think ! Thinking was some- 

 thing I had never been called upon to do. It had been my 

 lot simply to enjoy. I looked over the state of aflairs, and 

 found these hard facts : the house I occupied was worth 

 two thousand dollars; part of the purchase money was 

 paid, and five hundred dollars still remained on a mortgage j 

 there was an insurance of two thousand dollars on my hus- 

 band's life. And what else ? Nothing. Not a cent of in- 

 come of any sort. When the bills of the funeral were paid 

 I found I should have just twenty-five dollars on hand from 

 my husband's wages, and no more. Give up the house I 

 would not, at least, not until I was obliged to. No ! I 

 would stay where I was, find something to do and sup- 

 port myself and children as best I could. But then what 

 could I do ? Teach ? No, indeed. All I knew of music 

 when I was a girl had been lost long ago. Take a school ? 

 Could I get one? I imagined not. All the places are 

 spoken for long before they are vacant. What, then, could 

 I do ? Plainly, nothing but sewing. I must support my- 

 self by my needle. Thank God, I could do that. Accord- 



