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 Very soon we had to move into a smaller house, and had hardly any possessions. Mother did the best she could, but no money was safe from father; and one day she said she could bear it no longer, and went out with a wild look on her face. She soon returned with some black stuff that looked like paint, and went into the bedroom crying. After a while she was quiet, and I thought she was sleeping, so I went away to play.

It was some time before I returned, but mother was still sleeping. She looked so strange that I ran next door to ask them to come. They came; and at once there was a great hubbub, and somebody ran for father, but he was smoking opium and wouldn't come. Then I knew that the black stuff mother had bought was opium, and that she had swallowed it to end her troubles.

Her relatives came and made a great row. They abused father, and he abused them; and they demanded a lot of money, now mother was dead, though they never tried to help her when she was alive. Father didn't seem to care much, as opium eats all the spirit and manhood out of its victims. He hadn't any money, so thought the best thing was to send me at once to my future husband's home, and so obtain the amount they had practically bought me for. With this he was enabled to satisfy mother's relatives, and I soon found myself transferred to my new home. I never saw my father again. The cruel opium had made me worse than an orphan.