Mother would never say anything against Dan.

The weather continued dry. The wheat did n't come up, and Dad became
despondent again.

The storekeeper called every week and reminded Dad of his promise. "I
would give it you willingly," Dad would say, "if I had it, Mr. Rice; but
what can I do? You can't knock blood out of a stone."

We ran short of tea, and Dad thought to buy more with the money Anderson
owed him for some fencing he had done; but when he asked for it, Anderson
was very sorry he had n't got it just then, but promised to let him have
it as soon as he could sell his chaff. When Mother heard Anderson
could n't pay, she DID cry, and said there was n't a bit of sugar in the
house, nor enough cotton to mend the children's bits of clothes.

We could n't very well go without tea, so Dad showed Mother how to make a
new kind. He roasted a slice of bread on the fire till it was like a
black coal, then poured the boiling water over it and let it "draw" well.
Dad said it had a capital flavour--HE liked it.

Dave's only pair of pants were pretty well worn off him; Joe had n't a
decent coat for Sunday; Dad himself wore a pair of boots with soles tied
on with wire; and Mother fell sick. Dad did all he could--waited on her,
and talked hopefully of the fortune which would come to us some day; but
once, when talking to Dave, he broke down, and said he did n't, in the
name of the Almighty God, know what he would do! Dave could n't say
anything--he moped about, too, and home somehow did n't seem like home
at all.