THE minister's study was furnished with an eye to comfort rather than beauty. And yet there was something better than mere artistic loveliness in the long room, lined with book shelves, and with every evidence of use in the well worn couch, the comfortable easy chairs, and the desk piled with papers. Mrs. Lee's mending basket stood on the table, Beatrice's burnt-wood outfit was on the low shelf, Theodore's ping-pong table occupied one corner, and the windows were full of Miss Billy's plants. The room was the heart of the house. Here the poor and the sick of the minister's people came for help in their trouble. Here the children came for advice and encouragement in their childish griefs and hopes. Here the forlorn were cheered, and the sinful comforted; and here reigned the abiding spirit of the home.

Between the two south windows, in the post of honour in the room, hung the sermon board. It was a small slate blackboard, which had been glorified quite beyond its usual educational purposes. Bittersweet branches garlanded its sides, and hung their scarlet berries over its edges, and Miss Billy's best ivy stood on a bracket beneath. The board was an institution in the household. Here one was sure to find a bit of helpful verse, a timely quotation or an inspiring text, for all of the minister's sermons were not delivered from the pulpit. To-day it bore a longer message than usual,—Miss Billy's face grew soft as she read:

"To be honest, to be kind; to earn a little, and to spend less; to make upon the whole a family happier by his presence; to renounce where that shall be necessary and not to be embittered; to keep a few friends, but these without capitulation, above all, on the same grim conditions, to keep friends with himself—here is a task for all that a man has of fortitude and delicacy."

"Father is that man if one lives," she thought tenderly. "And mother is brave, too, but they will need help,—both of them."

"The meeting will come to order," said Mr. Lee, the lines of his face smoothing themselves out, as they always did when he looked at his assembled family.

"Whom can he mean?" asked Theodore innocently, stretching out his long legs in front of Beatrice.

"He means you," said Beatrice sharply. "Do get up, Theodore. You are so awkward-looking, there on the floor."

"Why is Beatrice like this meeting?" murmured Theodore, disentangling his legs from the afghan. "Because she has come to order. Sweet sister, in you a magnificent slave driver was ruined! Thus I fly to obey thy mandate."

Miss Billy gazed at him with meaning eyebrows as he established another cozy nest with robe and pillows on the broad couch. "I do hope he won't act up," she thought anxiously, settling herself in a position of attention.

"Our business is a little unpleasant this morning," began Mr. Lee with a poor little imitation of a smile that did not deceive at least one member of the party. "Mother and I had decided to keep it from you as long as possible, but later developments have made it necessary to—to——"

"It is right that we should know the unpleasant things as well as the pleasant," put in Miss Billy stoutly. "We are not children. Beatrice is eighteen, and Theodore and I shall be sixteen next June."

"There are disasters much worse than losing money," went on Mr. Lee. "Still I find myself perplexed and worried over financial troubles, and I feel that I need the sound judgment of every member of the family. Through the dishonesty of managing officers we have lost $15,000 which was invested in the Eastern Building and Loan Association. The loss cuts off from this source an annual income of $900, which of course we would not feel very keenly so long as my present salary continued. But yesterday I received a letter from the church trustees, worded as delicately and graciously as possible, but regretting that heavy indebtedness obliges them to reduce the pastor's salary $500 a year, for at least two years. This leaves us $1400 a year poorer than we have been before."

"Let me go to work," begged Theodore. "I'd like to."

"We thought of that," said Mrs. Lee with an approving glance at her son; "but it is not the most practical way when we consider the future. You must finish school first, Theodore."

Beatrice had been applying her handkerchief to her eyes in a ladylike manner. "Can't you do something to those horrid men?" she inquired pathetically. "Sue them, or have them arrested, or something?"

"Perhaps the law may reach them," said Mr. Lee, "but I have my doubts about the results. I fear there is little to recover. I think our wisest policy is to forget what is gone, and to conform to the situation as quickly as possible. Miss Billy, we haven't heard from you."

"Hurry up, Miss Billy. You may never be invited to talk again in the whole course of your existence," said her irrepressible brother.

Miss Billy roused from a brown study. "We are living in a large house—sixty dollars a month," she suggested.

"We couldn't live in a smaller one," put in Beatrice tearfully.

"Oh, yes we could," returned Miss Billy, with a glance at Theodore.

"Of course we could," echoed Theodore firmly.

"There can be a reduction made in the matter of servants," said Mrs. Lee. "We are paying Maggie fifteen dollars and Charlotte twelve. I have talked with Maggie already. She will stay with us for twelve, and we can let Charlotte go."

Beatrice looked more woe-begone than before, but Miss Billy's face showed no disappointment. "I think that is the very best thing to do under the circumstances," she said decidedly. "The servant girl problem is solved."

"On the contrary, it has just begun," said Beatrice with a rueful glance at her pretty hands.

"Miss Peabody will have to lose the brightest star in her galaxy. She draws too heavily upon our modest income. I shall join Ted at the High School," went on Miss Billy bravely.

"Are you sure that is wise?" asked Mrs. Lee. "Private school has been one of my pet extravagances. I should like to keep you with your old schoolmates as long as possible, for it will make a great change in your life to leave them."

"But think of the saving in expense," urged Miss Billy.

Beatrice gave a little shudder. "I hate to think of your going to that dirty, noisy place—filled with Germans and germs——"

"And Polish and poles, and Russians and rushes——" put in Theodore.

"The course is certainly good, and the instructors excellent," said the minister. "If Miss Billy could be reconciled to the public schools for a year, I think we could manage college for her later." There was a wistfulness in his tones that touched Miss Billy's tender heart.

"Of course I could," she said stoutly. "I'd rather go, daddy dear."

"As to the matter of houses," went on Mr. Lee, "I am afraid that we shall have to leave our present home. Your mother and I spent yesterday in looking at vacant houses. Just now there seem to be few unoccupied, but we finally found one that we thought might do."

"Where is it?" inquired Beatrice.

"In the lower part of the town," answered Mr. Lee. "It is not in an aristocratic neighbourhood, but it seems as though it might be quite comfortable, after a few repairs are made, and the rent is ridiculously low. The house in Number 12 Cherry Street."

"Cherry Street!" cried Beatrice, involuntarily clapping her palms over her eyes. "Oh, papa, how can you. We can't live in Cherry Street."

"Oh, yes we can," said Miss Billy promptly.

"Yes we can," chimed in Theodore.

"What kind of a house is it?" asked Miss Billy, in a practical and business-like tone.

Mr. Lee looked puzzled. "Well, I know it's small," he said, "and I have an indistinct remembrance of brown paint. Ask your mother; I fear I haven't much memory for details. Perhaps if I had I should have watched my investment a little closer," he added sadly.

"The house is small, and is brown too—in spots," said Mrs. Lee. "It has four rooms downstairs and four bedrooms above. There is no water or gas in the house, which is of course a great inconvenience; and the place is in shabby condition; but the landlord has promised to make the necessary repairs and to paint the house for us."

"He probably realises what it will mean to Cherry Street in a social way, to have us for tenants," said Beatrice.

"You bet he does," said Theodore. "In his mind's eye he can probably see Cherry Street ablaze with light and aglow with colour. He can see number twelve filled with diamond tiaras and cut glass pianos and freezers full of ice cream, to signify that a function is on. He can see the Caseys and the Raffertys and the Rosenbaums riding by in their coupÉs and splendour to attend the house warming given by the minister. Thus will 'sassiety' be brought into Cherry Street by the new tenants."

"Is there a yard?" asked Miss Billy diplomatically, for Beatrice was flushing angrily under her brother's ridicule. "Yes, there is a large yard," said Mrs. Lee. "The sod is almost worn off, but a little grass seed and care will work wonders there."

"Good!" exclaimed Miss Billy. "Then perhaps, sometime in the dim and misty future I may have a garden of my own. I would be willing to move for that alone."

"And I can raise vegetables and keep chickens," said Theodore.

"And rise at daybreak to plough and harrow, and to feed and water your stock," slyly added Miss Billy.

"Yes, my dear," retorted Theodore with true brotherly inflection, "and without the aid of an alarm clock either. When I hear a combination of an avalanche and an ice wagon going downstairs I shall say to myself: 'Time to get up. There goes Miss Billy.'"

"How about the furniture?" inquired Miss Billy, ignoring her brother's thrust. "It seems to me that what now abundantly fills fourteen rooms will overflow in eight. I have a hazy recollection of a philosophical principle about two objects not being able to occupy the same place at the same time. How shall we manage to get our great-grandmother's colossal bed into an eight by ten bedroom? Can you put allopathic furniture into a homoeopathic house, mother mine?"

"That is another thing to be considered," said Mrs. Lee. "Of course we shall not be able to take all of our furniture. I think we must plan to move only what is most necessary——"

"The bath tub and the Bible," interrupted Theodore.

"Yes," said his mother, smiling in spite of herself at the boy's merry way of treating a serious subject. "And the books for your father, and the piano for Beatrice——"

"And the couch for Theodore," suggested Miss Billy.

"And the watering pot for Miss Billy," retorted Theodore.

"And the sewing machine for me," went on Mrs. Lee, "and the range for Maggie, and the pictures and other comforts for us all. We must make Number 12 Cherry Street into a home as soon as possible. We shall store the rest, not sell it, for I feel sure that we shall need it all some day."

Miss Billy slid down on to the floor between her mother and father, and patted a hand of each. "Don't look so solemncholy," she said fondly; "moving isn't the worst thing in the world. We have been so comfortable all our lives that we don't know what it is to deprive ourselves of anything. And perhaps it will be a good lesson for us all—at least for Beatrice and Ted and me. Beside, I must confess that I already begin to feel a yearning to take possession of my new home. I believe that I shall like Number 12 Cherry Street."

Mrs. Lee smiled dubiously. "It is not a very pleasant house," she said. "And we shall not live as comfortably as we have been living since you can remember. You must not raise your hopes so high that a fall will hurt them. There are many things about the new life that will be hard and uncomfortable and distasteful, and we shall long for our pretty home and our old neighbours many, many times. But we are all together, and we have health and hope, which surely ought to bring happiness. And home is always home, no matter where the house is."

"But what will become of our friends?" said Beatrice, in a suspiciously teary tone. "None of them will come to visit us on Cherry Street."

"Let them stay away then," advised Miss Billy.

"By all means let them stay away," echoed Theodore airily.

"But they won't stay away," said Mrs. Lee, putting her arm tenderly about her elder daughter. "The ones we love best will find us, dear, even at Number 12 Cherry Street."

Miss Billy turned to the sermon board.

"... To renounce where that shall be necessary and not to be embittered...." Her eyes went from her mother's sweet smile to her father's serene face.

"They don't need any help," she decided.