"It's coming berry time, and there's our chickens, and the garden did
beautifully last year. Then there's your lace work and my knitting--
they bring something. Sell? Oh--we couldn't do that!" And she abruptly
left the room and went out into the yard. There she lovingly trained a
wayward vine with new shoots going wrong, and gloated over the
rosebushes heavy with crimson buds.
But as the days and weeks flew by and September drew the nearer,
Rachel's courage failed her. Berries had been scarce, the chickens had
died, the garden had suffered from drought, and but for their lace and
knitting work, their income would have dwindled to a pitiful sum
indeed. Ralph had been gone all summer; he had asked to go camping and
fishing with some of his school friends. He was expected home a week
before the college opened, however.
Tabitha grew more and more restless every day. Finally she spoke.
"Rachel, we'll have to sell--there isn't any other way. It would bring a
lot," she continued hurriedly, before her sister could speak, "and we
could find some pretty rooms somewhere. It wouldn't be so very
dreadful!"
"Don't, Tabitha! Seems as though I couldn't bear even to speak of it.
Sell?--oh, Tabitha!" Then her voice changed from a piteous appeal to one
of forced conviction.
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