Primrose hesitated. She wanted to talk to Hannah about her mother's
letter; she half took it out of her pocket, then she restrained
herself.

"Another time," she whispered to herself. Aloud she said--

"Hannah, Mrs. Ellsworthy and Miss Martineau hinted to me what Mr.
Danesfield said plainly to-day--we three girls have not got money
enough to live on."

"Eh, dear!" answered Hannah, dropping on to the nearest chair, "and
are you putting yourself out about that, my pretty? Why, tisn't likely
that you three young ladies could support yourselves. Don't you fret
about that, Miss Primrose; why, you'll get quite old with fretting,
and lose all your nice looks. You go to bed, my darling--there's a
Providence over us, and he'll find ways and means to help you."

Primrose rose to her feet, some tears came to her eyes, and taking
Hannah's hard old hand, she stooped and kissed her.

"I won't fret, Hannah," she said, "and I'll go to bed instantly. Thank
you for reminding me about God." Then she lit her bedroom candle and
went very gently up the stairs to her bedroom, but as she laid her
head on the pillow she said to herself--"Even Hannah sees that we
can't live on our income."

The next morning early Primrose said rather abruptly to her two
sisters--

"I have found out the meaning of Miss Martineau's fussiness and Mrs.