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"Well, it is a hard and tough story, that's a fact. But why need it so frighten you?"

"Frighten me! Because it is such a dreadful place, the poor-house. Such a cold, starving, corrupt, forgotten community is there. I shudder when I think it even possible that you and I, or one of our children should ever go over its threshold."

Mr. Armstrong embraced his wife lovingly, and assured her that he really believed they would be able to keep out of it, and admitted there was too much extravagance and too much disregard of the facts of poverty daily passing before them. He said he meant to be economical and wary, and begged his wife to regain her composure.

One of the boys soon after came in for a shilling to pay for mending his sled.

"Willard!" said Mrs. Armstrong, "I suppose there are some poor boys at the poor-house who never have a sled, and who almost never see a shilling. Now, don't you think it wicked to break your sled and then come to me for twelve-and-a-half cents to mend it, when your poor father and mother can hardly live as it is?"

"Ma'am!" exclaimed the frightened boy.

"I say, my son, we are poor and can't afford to mend sleds."

"I didn't know we were so poor, mother!"

"Well, we may be; and it is the duty of all of you children to try and save money, so as not to come to want, and go to that dreadful place, the poor-house."

Ellen came in and begged her mother to buy her a new pair of shoes, but Ellen was denied

"Your old shoes, Ellen, are better than many wear, and many a one has been reduced to beggary by needlessly spending money for shoes, ribbons, puff-combs, rings, brushes, and hair-pins."

"Mother, do you think we shall be?" inquired Ellen, thoughtfully.

"I cannot tell you, my child. Sometimes I greatly fear it. Expenses are all the time increasing, and there seems no end to the extravagance of building, trading, living. If we ever do come down to the poor-house we shall be mortified to death, besides undergoing all the suffering."

Mrs. Armstrong told a pedlar to go away; she didn't need any of his goods. She declined giving even Miss Flush, president of the Ladies' Sewing Society, her usual annual donation of a quarter of a dollar on the same plea.

"Why, Miss Flush, we are all bound to the poor-house; did you know it? Did you know that there was going to be an awful crash among us one of these days? And then to think of the end to which we are approaching -- perhaps just such another death as Mrs. Dodge!"

Miss Flush said it was an awful and flesh-crawling statement: it had almost sickened her of society and of life. But she daily said her prayers, and interested herself in works of benevolence, and so hoped she should be saved from absolute poverty, and especially from the poor-house.

"Well, I do hope. Miss Flush, you'll never come to that."

"As I live a single life," said that lady

"Nobody knows how long you may," quickly retorted the other.

"What, ma'am! Did you imply that I might be married some day?"

"I did."

"And yet you know that I am violently opposed to matrimony?"

"True; but ladies frequently marry against their inclination --"

"Never shall I give myself away, Mrs. Armstrong, to a person who has not my entire regard."

"One would imagine. Miss Flush, that most ladies would marry any body with a good, genteel property that would keep them from want."

"You are severe on the ladies to-day, Mrs. Armstrong. Now that is not my idea at all. I think our ladies marry from true principle, and from a desire of correct happiness."

"I think that many of them marry without much idea at all, except to make a display and avoid being old maids. But who would not rather be an old maid all her days, than to be the mother of children sent to the poor-house!"

"Well, it is a dreadful, dismal place, I suppose."

"Have you never been there?"

"Been there -- what, I!"

"Yes, to be sure."

"Why, no, of course: have you?"

"What, me!"

"Yes, indeed, you."

"No, not inside; but I have heard enough of it to frighten me out of sleep for a fortnight. (Heigho! )"

"It is said the town takes good care of the inmates."

"Miss Flush, it is false! The town does not furnish them with any of the comforts of life. Many of them sleep on the floor, in poorly-warmed and exposed rooms; many have the poorest of clothing; some of them almost starve to death. And the evil falls where you wouldn't expect it -- on our own native-born citizens."

"Well, I am surprised!"

"It is literally so; ask Squire Ben, he'll tell you all about it."

"Uncle Stout seems to think they are comfortably off."

"Ask Mr. Haddock."

"Oh, I know; Haddock's a fanatic."

"Well, suppose he is. He has been all over the poor-house, which is more than any of us can say."

"And now, my dear friend, (to change the subject,) you won't forsake us and decline to bestow your usual donation, now don't refuse, Mrs. Armstrong -- pray, don't now."

"I must to-day, I certainly must; I do not feel that a cent of money in my possession is my own to give away to anything."