And they never have any money, worth speaking of, to help with.
They have only their time and their strength and their whole laborious,
self-sacrificing lives to give. The expedients that they resort to in a
pinch would make anybody laugh--to keep from crying. They were out the
other day with a brand-new plan. They travelled about fifty miles
through the wilderness trying to find a purchaser for the new overcoat
that a Methodist friend gives Father Orin every fall. He, of course, had
given his old coat to some shivering wretch last spring while it was
still cold, but that didn't make the slightest difference. He didn't
even remember the fact till I reminded him of it. It is only October
now--so that he can do without the overcoat--and a poor fellow who has
come with his wife and baby to live in that deserted cabin near the
court-house, is in sore need of a horse for his fall ploughing. Father
Orin had suggested Toby's drawing the plough, thinking that some of his
own work might be attended to on foot. But Toby, it seems, drew the line
at that. It was a treat to hear Father Orin laugh when he told how Toby
made it plain that he thought there were more important duties for him
to perform, how firmly he refused to drag the plough.
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