The cruel money-lender, a lawyer with mean-looking
whiskers, confronted the three shrinking inmates to warn them that
he must have his money by a certain day or out they would go into
the streets. The old mother wept at this, and the earnest boy took
her in his arms. The little sister, terrified by the man's rough
words, also flew to this shelter, and thus he defied the intruder,
calm, fearless, dignified. The money would be paid and the intruder
would now please remember that, until the day named, this little
home was their very own.
The scoundrel left with a final menacing wave of his gnarled hand;
left the group facing ruin unless the invention could be perfected,
unless Mother could sell an extraordinary quantity of fruit or
improved grape juice to the city folks, or, indeed, unless the
little sister could do something wonderful.
She, it now seemed, was confident she also could help. She stood
apart from them and prettily promised to do something wonderful. She
asked them to remember that she was no longer a mere girl, but a
woman with a woman's determination. They both patted the little
thing encouragingly on the back.
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