Immediately expenses went up and he was beset
with difficulties.
He was not a poor man, it is true, but on the other hand he was not
blest with too many of this world's riches.
"To tell you the truth, old girl," he said to his wife, "it will be
the same old story over again."
"I am afraid it will, my dear," replied the poor woman, who, in
addition to her duties as a mother, had to do the whole work of the
house now.
After the birth of her fourth child, the work grew too hard for her
and a nursemaid had to be engaged.
"Now it must stop," avowed the disconsolate husband. "This must be the
last."
Poverty looked in at the door. The foundations on which the house was
built were tottering.
And thus, at the age of thirty, in the very prime of their life, the
young husband and wife found themselves condemned to celibacy. He grew
moody, his complexion became grey and his eyes lost their lustre. Her
rich beauty faded, her fine figure wasted away, and she suffered all
the sorrows of a mother who sees her children growing up in poverty
and rags.
One day, as she was standing in the kitchen, frying herrings, a
neighbour called in for a friendly chat.
"How are you?" she began.
"Thank you, I'm not up to very much.
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