in that quiet, efficient way where every stroke tells, and marks the expert housewife.
"Did you learn any thing of poor little Juliet's parentage from the woman above?" asked Mr. Barlow at the first convenient opportunity. Mrs. Aikin related all she had learned; nothing could well be more unsatisfactory. Even Susan Aikin, whose bright, healthy moral vision always perceived the first streak of daylight, could see nothing "comforting" in it. As she finished, Mr. Barlow heaved a sigh, and then said, "You might have thought my proposal to take Juliet very strange."
"Oh, no, sir; I am sure it is quite natural to feel as if you wanted to stretch a wing over the poor child; but—but the thing is, a girl wants women to look after her; and I have concluded, when Paulina is gone, to take Juliet into our family."
"What, Mrs. Aikin, with all your children?"
"Yes, sir; when one is used to have the care of a good many, an addition does not seem to make any difference.[1] We always have a little something to spare—and Juliet, poor child, might be fed from the crumbs that fall from the table."
"But then there are other expenses besides her food."
"Yes, sir; I have considered that, and determined, as long as my health is spared, to work one hour extra every night; what I can thus earn will certainly cover all Juliet's expenses to us—so, I see my way quite clear; it is a comfort, sir, not to lose this opportunity."
- ↑ An argument similar to this we have often heard used by one whose sheltering charities seem only to be limited by the wants of those that come within her sphere.
