a little post in Birmingham, which will bring him in just enough to support
us in the most modest lodgings. We cannot hope to have a house of our own,
for we are determined never again to borrow--and, indeed, I do not know who
would lend to us. We are poor people, and must live as poor people do. Miss
Shepperson, I ask one favour of you. Will you permit us to leave your house
without the customary notice? We should feel very grateful. To-day I pay
Susan, and part with her; to-morrow we must travel to Birmingham. The
furniture will be removed by the people who take possession of it--'

Miss Shepperson was listening with a bewildered look. She saw Mr. Rymer
stand up.

'I will now,' he said, 'pay you the rent from the day--'

'Oh, Mr. Rymer!' cried the agitated woman. 'How _can_ I take it? How can I
leave you penniless? I should feel it a downright robbery, that I should!'

'Miss Shepperson,' exclaimed Mrs. Rymer in soft reproach, 'don't you
understand how much better it is to pay all we owe, even though it does
leave us penniless? Why, even darling baby'--she kissed it--'would say so
if she could speak, poor little mite. Of course you will accept the money;
I insist upon it. You won't forget us. We will send you our address, and
you shall hear of your little godchild--'

Her voice broke; she sobbed, and rebuked herself for weakness, and sobbed
again. Meanwhile Mr. Rymer stood holding out banknotes and gold. The
distracted Miss Shepperson made a wild gesture.

'How _can_ I take it? How _can_ I? I should be ashamed the longest day I
lived!'