"Your oldest is twelve, and a girl. I have a place for her, and, I think,
for the boy, too. You must bind them out. Mr. Slicker, the landlord of
the Farmers' Hotel, will take the girl, and I think James Sweeny will
take the boy to run errands about the livery stable. I'll send you some
provisions and coal to-day; but you must let the children go. I'll come
to your house in a few days. Don't object; I won't hear a word. If you're
as poor as you let on to be, you'll be glad enough to get your young ones
into places where they'll get enough to eat. That's all--not a word,
now." And he turned to the next applicant, leaving the widow to go home
with her heart cold.
Let Susie go to Slicker's tavern! What kind of a house would it be
without her? Who would attend to the house while she sewed? And what
would become of her girl in such a place? And then to send George, who
had to wait on Harry--to send him away forever was to shut out all hope
of ever being in better circumstances. Then she could not sew, and the
children could never help her. God pity the people that fall into the
hands of public charity!
The next few days wore heavily on with the widow. What to do she did not
know. At night she scarcely slept at all.
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