"Jump in, little girl," he said. "You've kept me waiting for you a long
time, and my time is valuable."

The distance to the poorhouse was about a mile and a half. For the first
half mile Deacon Pinkerton kept silence. Then he began to speak, in a
tone of cold condescension, as if it were a favor for such a superior
being to address an insignificant child, about to become a pauper.

"Little girl, have you heard from your brother lately?"

"Not very lately, sir."

"What is he doing?"

"He is in a store."

"I apprehend you are mistaken. He has lost his place. He has been turned
away," said the deacon, with satisfaction.

"Frank turned away! Oh, sir, you must be mistaken."

"Mr. Pomeroy told me. He found out yesterday when he went to the city."

Poor Grace! she could not longer doubt now, and her brother's misfortune
saddened her even more than her own.

"Probably you will soon see your brother."

"Oh, do you think so, sir?" asked Grace, joyfully.