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 Sobbing, he told her.

"M-mother—it wasn't p-pussy broke the plant—it was me"

He clung to her; she comforted him, forgave him, until his wild crying was over and he was able, a repentant cherub, to say prayers punctuated by last loud hiccuping sobs.

"Our Father, who art in heaven, Harold be thy Name"

"Our Father, help me to be a good mother to my Jodie," Kate prayed with him, in her heart.

After her husband's death she had felt dead in body and mind. She could not sleep; she could not really wake. But her love for her little boy, her hope for his future, pierced through to her, waking her, breaking her.

Now she sat opposite the three children, appealing to them.

"We must all be very careful, children, and save every penny we can. You'll help me, won't you?"

"Yes, Aunt Kate!"

"Yes, Mrs. Green!"

"Yes, mother!"

Jodie agreed from amiability, Hoagland to be companionable. But Charlotte was thrilled. All the heroines of her favorite books were poor—Jo March, Polly Pepper. Her cheeks burned brighter pink, her eyes glowed behind their glasses. She would make money, somehow, and buy butter for their dry bread