At a Girl's Mercy, or, The Fortunes of War — page 162: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AT A GIRL'S MERCY. | 151 could not many years longer work for those whom. he so tenderly loved, and when he should be called from them he would not leave them less than com- fortably provided for. He had thought of this many times lately. He felt his strength giving out, and his once powerful form weakening. There had been so much crowded into the last year orso. What with the war, and this robbery, and the illness of his wife, with the boys under the fire of the enemy— how could a man do less than fret himself into more speedy old age than a quiet life would have given him? And this little girl of his to know that life must hold bitterness as well as sweet for her al- ready, when she had scarcely left girlhood behind her. It was very bitter to his proud nature, but, after all, he could bear anything rather than owe any man a dollar. After all, he would rather the claim of his neighbor be paid while he was still there to work for his loved ones, than to leave it until it could never be so readily paid. Whatif it did cramp him for some time? He knew better how to meet the straightened means than they could know. He could still hold up his head with all honor; he had done nothing one should be ashamed of. Nan’s spirit had entered him, and he was ready and will- ing to meet the demands of Howard Blake on the morrow without a pang of remorse. Nan saw the change in his face, and knew her triumph. She laughed softly, and dropped again at his feet, the flash gone from her eyes. They were tender now with sympathy. “Tt isn’t so very much you owe Mr. Blake, papa,” she said. ‘‘Fifty thousand is a nice little sum, but, after ail, it isn’t as though it were a hundred thou- sand, One might as well comfort one’s self with that