Belle, and yet they were very grave ones. Her mind and heart were
preoccupied. She was protected from even the desire of perilous
associations and pleasures by the delicacy and refinement of her
nature and her Christian principle. She shrank from social contact
with the ruder world by which she was now surrounded; she felt and
lived like one in exile, and her hope was to return to her native
land. In the meantime she was growing pale, languid, morbid, and,
occasionally, even irritable, from the lack of proper exercise and
change. She was not discouraged as yet, but the day of deliverance
seemed to grow more distant. Her father apparently was declining in
energy and health, and his income was very small. She worked long
hours over her fancy work, but the prices paid for it at the shops
were so small that she felt with a growing despondency it was but
a precarious means of support. Their first month in the old mansion
was drawing to a close, and they had been compelled to draw slightly
on the small sum of ready money still remaining after paying for
their summer's board. They still had a few articles in storage,
having retained them in hope of moving, at no distant time, into
more commodious quarters.

In their desire for economy they also fell into the very common
error of buying salt fish and meat, and other articles of food that
were cheap and easily prepared rather than nutritious, and Belle
was inclined to make her lunch on pastry and cake instead of food.
In teaching them a better way Mrs. Wheaton proved herself a very
useful friend. "Vat yer vant is sumthink that makes blood an'
stands by von," she had said; "an' this 'ere salt, dry stuff an'
light baker's bread and tea and coffee don't do this hat hall.
They's good henough as relishes an' trimmins an' roundins hoff, but
they hain't got the nourishin' in 'em that vorking people vants.