their last supper in the little old house that had always been
their home.

Mr. Elmer had, for fifteen years, been cashier of the Norton Bank;
and though his salary was not large, he had, by practising the
little economies of a New England village, supported his family
comfortably until this time, and laid by a sum of money for a
rainy day. And now the "rainy day" had come. For two years past
the steady confinement to his desk had told sadly upon the
faithful bank cashier, and the stooping form, hollow cheeks, and
hacking cough could no longer be disregarded. For a long time good
old Dr. Wing had said,

"You must move South, Elmer; you can't stand it up here much
longer."

Both Mr. Elmer and his wife knew that this was true; but how could
they move South? where was the money to come from? and how were
they to live if they did? Long and anxious had been the
consultations after the children were tucked into their beds, and
many were the prayers for guidance they had offered up.

At last a way was opened, "and just in time, too," said the
doctor, with a grave shake of his head. Mrs. Elmer's uncle,
Christopher Bangs, whom the children called "Uncle Christmas,"
heard of their trouble, and left his saw-mills and lumber camps to
come and see "where the jam was," as he expressed it. When it was
all explained to him, his good-natured face, which had been in a
wrinkle of perplexity, lit up, and with a resounding slap of his
great, hard hand on his knee, he exclaimed,