"In the meantime, you can invite him and Grace to come and stay with us
a week, or a fortnight. Shall we say a fortnight, wife?"

"With all my heart."

"All right, father. Thank you."

Sam delivered the invitation in a way that showed how strongly his own
feelings were enlisted in favor of its acceptance. Frank grasped his
hand.

"Thank you, Sam, you are a true friend," he said.

"I hadn't begun to think of what we were to do, Grace and I."

"You'll come, won't you?"

"You are sure that it won't trouble your mother, Sam?"

"She is anxious to have you come."

"Then I'll come. I haven't formed any plans yet, but I must as soon--as
soon as mother is buried. I think I can earn my living somehow. One
thing I am determined about--I won't go to the poorhouse."

The funeral was over. Frank and Grace walked back to the little house,
now their home no longer. They were to pack up a little bundle of
clothes and go over to Mr. Pomeroy's in time for supper.