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diff --git a/18011-h/18011-h.htm b/18011-h/18011-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a0a773d --- /dev/null +++ b/18011-h/18011-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,20424 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.0 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII"> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Portion of Labor, by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman</title> +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The Portion of Labor, by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Portion of Labor + +Author: Mary E. Wilkins Freeman + +Release Date: March 18, 2006 [EBook #18011] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PORTION OF LABOR *** + + + + +Produced by Jeff Kaylin and Andrew Sly + + + + + +</pre> + +<h2 align="center">The Portion of Labor</h2> +<h3 align="center">By<br> Mary E. Wilkins</h3> +<p align="center">Author of<br> “Jerome” “A New England Nun” Etc.</p> +<p align="center">Illustrated</p> +<p align="center">Harper & Brothers<br> +Publishers New York<br> +And London MDCCCCI</p> + +<p>To Henry Mills Alden</p> + +<div align="center"> +<a href="images/plimage1.jpg"> +<img src="images/plimage1.jpg" width="616" height="483" +alt="What did such a good little girl as you be run away from father and mother for?"></a> +</div> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter I</h3> + +<p>On the west side of Ellen's father's house was a file of Norway +spruce-trees, standing with a sharp pointing of dark boughs towards +the north, which gave them an air of expectancy of progress.</p> + +<p>Every morning Ellen, whose bedroom faced that way, looked out with +a firm belief that she would see them on the other side of the stone +wall, advanced several paces towards their native land. She had no +doubt of their ability to do so; their roots, projecting in fibrous +sprawls from their trunks, were their feet, and she pictured them +advancing with wide trailings, and rustlings as of green draperies, +and a loudening of that dreamy cry of theirs which was to her +imagination a cry of homesickness reminiscent of their old life in +the White north. When Ellen had first heard the name Norway spruce, +'way back in her childhood—so far back, though she was only +seven and a half now, that it seemed to her like a memory from +another life—she had asked her mother to show her Norway on the +map, and her strange convictions concerning the trees had seized her. +When her mother said that they had come from that northernmost land +of Europe, Ellen, to whose childhood all truth was naked and literal, +immediately conceived to herself those veritable trees advancing over +the frozen seas around the pole, and down through the vast regions +which were painted blue on her map, straight to her father's west +yard. There they stood and sang the songs of their own country, with +a melancholy sweetness of absence and longing, and were forever +thinking to return. Ellen felt always a thrill of happy surprise when +she saw them still there of a morning, for she felt that she would +miss them sorely when they were gone. She said nothing of all this to +her mother; it was one of the secrets of the soul which created her +individuality and made her a spiritual birth. She was also silent +about her belief concerning the cherry-trees in the east yard. There +were three of them, giants of their kind, which filled the east yard +every spring as with mountains of white bloom, breathing wide gusts +of honey sweetness, and humming with bees. Ellen believed that these +trees had once stood in the Garden of Eden, but she never expected to +find them missing from the east yard of a morning, for she remembered +the angel with the flaming sword, and she knew how one branch of the +easternmost tree happened to be blasted as if by fire. And she +thought that these trees were happy, and never sighed to the wind as +the dark evergreens did, because they had still the same blossoms and +the same fruit that they had in Eden, and so did not fairly know that +they were not there still. Sometimes Ellen, sitting underneath them +on a low rib of rock on a May morning, used to fancy with success +that she and the trees were together in that first garden which she +had read about in the Bible.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, after one of these successful imaginings, when Ellen's +mother called her into the house she would stare at her little +daughter uneasily, and give her a spoonful of a bitter spring +medicine which she had brewed herself. When Ellen's father, Andrew +Brewster, came home from the shop, she would speak to him aside as he +was washing his hands at the kitchen sink, and tell him that it +seemed to her that Ellen looked kind of “pindlin'.” Then +Andrew, before he sat down at the dinner-table, would take Ellen's +face in his two moist hands, look at her with anxiety thinly veiled +by facetiousness, rub his rough, dark cheek against her soft, white +one until he had reddened it, then laugh, and tell her she looked +like a bo'sn. Ellen never quite knew what her father meant by bo'sn, +but she understood that it signified something very rosy and hearty +indeed.</p> + +<p>Ellen's father always picked out for her the choicest and +tenderest bits of the humble dishes, and his keen eyes were more +watchful of her plate than of his own. Always after Ellen's mother +had said to her father that she thought Ellen looked pindling he was +late about coming home from the shop, and would turn in at the gate +laden with paper parcels. Then Ellen would find an orange or some +other delicacy beside her plate at supper. Ellen's aunt Eva, her +mother's younger sister, who lived with them, would look askance at +the tidbit with open sarcasm. “You jest spoil that young one, +Fanny,” she would say to her sister.</p> + +<p>“You can do jest as you are a mind to with your own young +ones when you get them, but you can let mine alone. It's none of your +business what her father and me give her to eat; you don't buy +it,” Ellen's mother would retort. There was the utmost +frankness of speech between the two sisters. Neither could have been +in the slightest doubt as to what the other thought of her, for it +was openly proclaimed to her a dozen times a day, and the conclusion +was never complimentary. Ellen learned very early to form her own +opinions of character from her own intuition, otherwise she would +have held her aunt and mother in somewhat slighting estimation, and +she loved them both dearly. They were headstrong, violent-tempered +women, but she had an instinct for the staple qualities below that +surface turbulence, which was lashed higher by every gust of +opposition. These two loud, contending voices, which filled the house +before and after shop-hours—for Eva worked in the shop with her +brother-in-law—with a duet of discords instead of harmonies, +meant no more to Ellen than the wrangle of the robins in the +cherry-trees. She supposed that two sisters always conversed in that +way. She never knew why her father, after a fiery but ineffectual +attempt to quell the feminine tumult, would send her across the east +yard to her grandmother Brewster's, and seat himself on the east +door-step in summer, or go down to the store in the winter. She would +sit at the window in her grandmother's sitting-room, eating +peacefully the slice of pound-cake or cooky with which she was always +regaled, and listen to the scolding voices across the yard as she +might have listened to any outside disturbance. She was never sucked +into the whirlpool of wrath which seemed to gyrate perpetually in her +home, and wondered at her grandmother Brewster's impatient +exclamations concerning the poor child, and her poor boy, and that it +was a shame and a disgrace, when now and then a louder explosion of +wrath struck her ears.</p> + +<p>Ellen's grandmother—Mrs. Zelotes Brewster, as she was +called, though her husband Zelotes had been dead for many +years—was an aristocrat by virtue of inborn prejudices and +convictions, in despite of circumstances. The neighbors said that +Mrs. Zelotes Brewster had always been high-feeling, and had held up +her head with the best. It would have been nearer the truth to say +that she held up her head above the best. No one seeing the erect old +woman, in her draperies of the finest black goods to be bought in the +city, could estimate in what heights of thin upper air of spiritual +consequence her head was elevated. She had always a clear sight of +the head-tops of any throng in which she found herself, and queens or +duchesses would have been no exception. She would never have failed +to find some stool of superior possessions or traits upon which to +raise herself, and look down upon crown and coronet. When she read in +the papers about the marriage of a New York belle to an English duke, +she reflected that the duke could be by no means as fine a figure of +a man as Zelotes had been, and as her son Andrew was, although both +her husband and son had got all their education in the town schools, +and had worked in shoe-shops all their lives. She could have looked +at a palace or a castle, and have remained true to the splendors of +her little one-story-and-a-half house with a best parlor and +sitting-room, and a shed kitchen for use in hot weather.</p> + +<p>She would not for one instant have been swerved from utmost +admiration and faith in her set of white-and-gold wedding china by +the contemplation of Copeland and Royal Sèvres. She would have +pitted her hair-cloth furniture of the ugliest period of household +art against all the Chippendales and First Empire pieces in +existence.</p> + +<p>As Mrs. Zelotes had never seen any household possessions to equal +her own, let alone to surpass them, she was of the same mind with +regard to her husband and his family, herself and her family, her son +and little granddaughter. She never saw any gowns and shawls which +compared with hers in fineness and richness; she never tasted a +morsel of cookery which was not as sawdust when she reflected upon +her own; and all that humiliated her in the least, or caused her to +feel in the least dissatisfied, was her son's wife and her family and +antecedents.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Zelotes Brewster had considered that her son Andrew was +marrying immeasurably beneath him when he married Fanny Loud, of +Loudville. Loudville was a humble, an almost disreputably humble, +suburb of the little provincial city. The Louds from whom the +locality took its name were never held in much repute, being +considered of a stratum decidedly below the ordinary social one of +the city. When Andrew told his mother that he was to marry a Loud, +she declared that she would not go to his wedding, nor receive the +girl at her house, and she kept her word. When one day Andrew brought +his sweetheart to his home to call, trusting to her pretty face and +graceful though rather sharp manner to win his mother's heart, he +found her intrenched in the kitchen, and absolutely indifferent to +the charms of his Fanny in her stylish, albeit somewhat tawdry, +finery, though she had peeped to good purpose from her parlor window, +which commanded the road, before she fled kitchenward.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Zelotes was beating eggs with as firm an impetus as if she +were heaving up earth-works to strengthen her own pride when her son +thrust his timid face into the kitchen. “Mother, Fanny's in the +parlor,” he said, beseechingly.</p> + +<p>“Let her set there, then, if she wants to,” said his +mother, and that was all she would say.</p> + +<p>Very soon Fanny went home on her lover's arm, freeing her mind +with no uncertain voice on the way, though she was on the public +road, and within hearing of sharp ears in open windows. Fanny had a +pride as fierce as Mrs. Zelotes Brewster's, though it was not so well +sustained, and she would then and there have refused to marry Andrew +had she not loved him with all her passionate and ill-regulated +heart. But she never forgave her mother-in-law for the slight she had +put upon her that day, and the slights which she put upon her later. +She would have refused to live next door to Mrs. Zelotes had not +Andrew owned the land and been in a measure forced to build there. +Every time she had flaunted out of her new house-door in her wedding +finery she had an uncomfortable feeling of defiance under a fire of +hostile eyes in the next house. She kept her own windows upon that +side as clear and bright as diamonds, and her curtains in the +stiffest, snowy slants, lest her terrible mother-in-law should have +occasion to impeach her housekeeping, she being a notable housewife. +The habits of the Louds of Loudville were considered shiftless in the +extreme, and poor Fanny had heard an insinuation of Mrs. Zelotes to +that effect.</p> + +<p>The elder Mrs. Brewster's knowledge of her son's house and his +wife was limited to the view from her west windows, but there was +half-truce when little Ellen was born. Mrs. Brewster, who considered +that no woman could be obtained with such a fine knowledge of nursing +as she possessed, and who had, moreover, a regard for her poor boy's +pocket-book, appeared for the first time in his doorway, and opened +her heart to her son's child, if not to his wife, whom she began to +tolerate.</p> + +<p>However, the two women had almost a hand-to-hand encounter over +little Ellen's cradle, the elder Mrs. Brewster judging that it was +for her good to be rocked to sleep, the younger not. Little Ellen +herself, however, turned the balance that time in favor of her +grandmother, since she cried every time the gentle, swaying motion +was hushed, and absolutely refused to go to sleep, and her mother +from the first held every course which seemed to contribute to her +pleasure and comfort as a sacred duty. At last it came to pass that +the two women met only upon that small neutral ground of love, and +upon all other territory were sworn foes. Especially was Mrs. Zelotes +wroth when Eva Loud, after the death of her father, one of the most +worthless and shiftless of the Louds of Loudville, came to live with +her married sister. She spoke openly to Fanny concerning her opinion +of another woman's coming to live on poor Andrew, and paid no heed to +the assertions that Eva would work and pay her way.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Zelotes, although she acknowledged it no social degradation +for a man to work in a shoe-factory, regarded a woman who worked +therein as having hopelessly forfeited her caste. Eva Loud had worked +in a shop ever since she was fourteen, and had tagged the grimy and +leathery procession of Louds, who worked in shoe-factories when they +worked at all, in a short skirt with her hair in a strong black +pigtail. There was a kind of bold grace and showy beauty about this +Eva Loud which added to Mrs. Zelotes's scorn and dislike.</p> + +<p>“She walks off to work in the shop as proud as if she was +going to a party,” she said, and she fairly trembled with anger +when she saw the girl set out with her son in the morning. She would +have considered it much more according to the eternal fitness of +things had her son Andrew been attending a queen whom he would have +dropped at her palace on the way. She writhed inwardly whenever +little Ellen spoke of her aunt Eva, and would have forbidden her to +do so had she dared.</p> + +<p>“To think of that child associating with a shop-girl!” +she said to Mrs. Pointdexter. Mrs. Pointdexter was her particular +friend, whom she regarded with loving tolerance of superiority, +though she had been the daughter of a former clergyman of the town, +and had wedded another, and might presumably have been accounted +herself of a somewhat higher estate. The gentle and dependent +clergyman's widow, when she came back to her native city after the +death of her husband, found herself all at once in a pleasant little +valley of humiliation at the feet of her old friend, and was +contented to abide there. “Perhaps your son's sister-in-law +will marry and go away,” she said, consolingly, to Mrs. +Zelotes, who indeed lived in that hope. But Eva remained at her +sister's, and, though she had admirers in plenty, did not marry, and +the dissension grew.</p> + +<p>It was an odd thing that, however the sisters quarrelled, the +minute Andrew tried to take sides with his wife and assail Eva in his +turn, Fanny turned and defended her. “I am not going to desert +all the sister I have got in the world,” she said. “If +you want me to leave, say so, and I will go, but I shall never turn +Eva out of doors. I would rather go with her and work in the +shop.” Then the next moment the wrangle would recommence, and +the harsh trebles of wrath would swell high. Andrew could not +appreciate this savageness of race loyalty in the face of anger and +dissension, and his brain reeled with the apparent inconsistency of +the thing.</p> + +<p>“Sometimes I think they are both crazy,” he used to +tell his mother, who sympathized with him after a covertly triumphant +fashion. She never said, “I told you so,” but the thought +was evident on her face, and her son saw it there.</p> + +<p>However, he said not a word against his wife, except by +implication. Though she and her sister were making his home +unbearable, he still loved her, and, even if he did not, he had +something of his mother's pride.</p> + +<p>However, at last, when Ellen was almost eight years old, matters +came suddenly to a climax one evening in November. The two sisters +were having a fiercer dispute than usual. Eva was taking her sister +to task for cutting over a dress of hers for Ellen, Fanny claiming +that she had given her permission to do so, and Eva denying it. The +child sat listening in her little chair with a look of dawning +intelligence of wrath and wicked temper in her face, because she was +herself in a manner the cause of the dissension. Suddenly Andrew +Brewster, with a fiery outburst of inconsequent masculine wrath with +the whole situation, essayed to cut the Gordian knot. He grabbed the +little dress of bright woollen stuff, which lay partly made upon the +table, and crammed it into the stove, and a reek of burning wool +filled the room. Then both women turned upon him with a combination +of anger to which his wrath was wildfire.</p> + +<p>Andrew caught up little Ellen, who was beginning to look scared, +wrapped the first thing he could seize around her, and fairly fled +across the yard to his mother's. Then he sat down and wept like a +boy, and his pride left him at last. “Oh, mother,” he +sobbed, “if it were not for the child, I would go away, for my +home is a hell!”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Zelotes stood clasping little Ellen, who clung to her, +trembling. “Well, come over here with me,” she said, +“you and Ellen.”</p> + +<p>“Live here in the next house!” said Andrew. “Do +you suppose Fanny would have the child living under her very eyes in +the next house? No, there is no way out of the misery—no way; +but if it was not for the child, I would go!”</p> + +<p>Andrew burst out in such wild sobs that his mother released Ellen +and ran to him; and the child, trembling and crying with a curious +softness, as of fear at being heard, ran out of the house and back to +her home. “Oh, mother,” she cried, breaking in upon the +dialogue of anger which was still going on there with her little +tremulous flute—“oh, mother, father is crying!”</p> + +<p>“I don't care,” answered her mother, fiercely, her +temper causing her to lose sight of the child's agitation. “I +don't care. If it wasn't for you, I would leave him. I wouldn't live +as I am doing. I would leave everybody. I am tired of this awful +life. Oh, if it wasn't for you, Ellen, I would leave everybody and +start fresh!”</p> + +<p>“You can leave <em>me</em> whenever you want to,” said +Eva, her handsome face burning red with wrath, and she went out of +the room, which was suffocating with the fumes of the burning wool, +tossing her black head, all banged and coiled in the latest +fashion.</p> + +<p>Of late years Fanny had sunk her personal vanity further and +further in that for her child. She brushed her own hair back hard +from her temples, and candidly revealed all her unyouthful lines, and +dwelt fondly upon the arrangement of little Ellen's locks, which were +of a fine, pale yellow, as clear as the color of amber.</p> + +<p>She never recut her skirts or her sleeves, but she studied +anxiously all the slightest changes in children's fashions. After her +sister had left the room with a loud bang of the door, she sat for a +moment gazing straight ahead, her face working, then she burst into +such a passion of hysterical wailing as the child had never heard. +Ellen, watching her mother with eyes so frightened and full of horror +that there was no room for childish love and pity in them, grew very +pale. She had left the door by which she had entered open; she gazed +one moment at her mother, then she turned and slipped out of the +room, and, opening the outer door softly, though her mother would not +have heard nor noticed, went out of the house.</p> + +<p>Then she ran as fast as she could down the frozen road, a little, +dark figure, passing as rapidly as the shadow of a cloud between the +earth and the full moon.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter II</h3> + +<p>The greatest complexity in the world attends the motive-power of +any action. Infinite perspectives of mental mirrors reflect the whys +of all doing. An adult with long practice in analytic introspection +soon becomes bewildered when he strives to evolve the primary and +fundamental reasons for his deeds; a child so striving would be lost +in unexpected depths; but a child never strives. A child obeys +unquestioningly and absolutely its own spiritual impellings without a +backward glance at them.</p> + +<p>Little Ellen Brewster ran down the road that November night, and +did not know then, and never knew afterwards, why she ran. Loving +renunciation was surging high in her childish heart, giving an +indication of tidal possibilities for the future, and there was also +a bitter, angry hurt of slighted dependency and affection. Had she +not heard them say, her own mother and father say, that they would be +better off and happier with her out of the way, and she their dearest +loved and most carefully cherished possession in the whole world? It +is a cruel fall for an apple of the eye to the ground, for its law of +gravitation is of the soul, and its fall shocks the infinite. Little +Ellen felt herself sorely hurt by her fall from such fair heights; +she was pierced by the sharp thorns of selfish interests which +flourish below all the heavenward windows of life.</p> + +<p>Afterwards, when her mother and father tried to make her tell them +why she ran away, she could not say; the answer was beyond her own +power.</p> + +<p>There was no snow on the ground, but the earth was frozen in great +ribs after a late thaw. Ellen ran painfully between the ridges which +a long line of ice-wagons had made with their heavy wheels earlier in +the day. When the spaces between the ridges were too narrow for her +little feet, she ran along the crests, and that was precarious. She +fell once and bruised one of her delicate knees, then she fell again, +and struck the knee on the same place. It hurt her, and she caught +her breath with a gasp of pain. She pulled up her little frock and +touched her hand to her knee, and felt it wet, then she whimpered on +the lonely road, and, curiously enough, there was pity for her mother +as well as for herself in her solitary grieving. “Mother would +feel pretty bad if she knew how I was hurt, enough to make it +bleed,” she murmured, between her soft sobs. Ellen did not dare +cry loudly, from a certain unvoiced fear which she had of shocking +the stillness of the night, and also from a delicate sense of +personal dignity, and a dislike of violent manifestations of feeling +which had strengthened with her growth in the midst of the turbulent +atmosphere of her home. Ellen had the softest childish voice, and she +never screamed or shouted when excited. Instead of catching the +motion of the wind, she still lay before it, like some +slender-stemmed flower. If Ellen had made much outcry with the hurt +in her heart and the smart of her knee, she might have been heard, +for the locality was thickly settled, though not in the business +portion of the little city. The houses, set prosperously in the midst +of shaven lawns—for this was a thrifty and emulative place, and +democracy held up its head confidently—were built closely along +the road, though that was lonely and deserted at that hour. It was +the hour between half-past six and half-past seven, when people were +lingering at their supper-tables, and had not yet started upon their +evening pursuits. The lights shone for the most part from the rear +windows of the houses, and there was a vague compound odor of tea and +bread and beefsteak in the air. Poor Ellen had not had her supper; +the wrangle at home had dismissed it from everybody's mind. She felt +more pitiful towards her mother and herself when she smelt the food +and reflected upon that. To think of her going away without any +supper, all alone in the dark night! There was no moon, and the +solemn brilliancy of the stars made her think with a shiver of awe of +the Old Testament and the possibility of the Day of Judgment. Suppose +it should come, and she all alone out in the night, in the midst of +all those worlds and the great White Throne, without her mother? +Ellen's grandmother, who was of a stanch orthodox breed, and was, +moreover, anxious to counteract any possible detriment as to +religious training from contact with the degenerate Louds of +Loudville, had established a strict course of Bible study for her +granddaughter at a very early age. All celestial phenomena were in +consequence transposed into a Biblical key for the child, and she +regarded the heavens swarming with golden stars as a Hebrew child of +a thousand years ago might have done.</p> + +<p>She was glad when she came within the radius of a street light +from time to time; they were stationed at wide intervals in that +neighborhood. Soon, however, she reached the factories, when all +mystery and awe, and vague terrors of what beside herself might be +near unrevealed beneath the mighty brooding of the night, were over. +She was, as it were, in the mid-current of the conditions of her own +life and times, and the material force of it swept away all +symbolisms and unstable drift, and left only the bare rocks and +shores of existence. Always when the child had been taken by one of +her elders past the factories, humming like gigantic hives, with +their windows alert with eager eyes of toil, glancing out at her over +bench and machine, Ellen had seen her secretly cherished imaginings +recede into a night of distance like stars, and she had felt her +little footing upon the earth with a shock, and had clung more +closely to the leading hand of love. “That's where your poor +father works,” her grandmother would say. “Maybe you'll +have to work there some day,” her aunt Eva had said once; and +her mother, who had been with her also, had cried out sharply as if +she had been stung, “I guess that little delicate thing ain't +never goin' to work in a shoe-shop, Eva Loud.” And her aunt +Eva had laughed, and declared with emphasis that she guessed there +was no need to worry yet awhile.</p> + +<p>“She never shall, while I live,” her mother had cried; +and then Eva, coming to her sister's aid against her own suggestion, +had declared, with a vehemence which frightened Ellen, that she would +burn the shop down herself first.</p> + +<p>As for Ellen's father, he never at that time dwelt upon the +child's future as much as his wife did, having a masculine sense of +the instability of houses of air which prevented him from entering +them without a shivering of walls and roof into naught but +star-mediums by his downrightness of vision. “Oh, let the child +be, can't you, Fanny?” he said, when his wife speculated +whether Ellen would be or do this or that when she should be a woman. +He resented the conception of the woman which would swallow up, like +some metaphysical sorceress, his fair little child. So when he now +and then led Ellen past the factories it was never with the slightest +surmise as to any connection which she might have with them beyond +the present one. “There's the shop where father works,” +he would tell Ellen, with a tender sense of his own importance in his +child's eyes, and he was as proud as Punch when Ellen was able to +point with her tiny pink finger at the window where father worked. +“That's where father works and earns money to buy nice things +for little Ellen,” Andrew would repeat, beaming at her with +divine foolishness, and Ellen looked at the roaring, vibrating +building as she might have looked at the wheels of progress. She +realized that her father was very great and smart to work in a place +like that, and earn money—so much of it. Ellen often heard her +mother remark with pride how much money Andrew earned.</p> + +<p>To-night, when Ellen passed in her strange flight, the factories +were still, though they were yet blazing with light. The gigantic +buildings, after a style of architecture as simple as a child's block +house, and adapted to as primitive an end, loomed up beside the road +like windowed shells enclosing massive concretenesses of golden +light. They looked entirely vacant except for light, for the workmen +had all gone home, and there were only the keepers in the buildings. +There were three of them, representing three different firms, rival +firms, grouped curiously close together, but Lloyd's was much the +largest. Andrew and Eva worked in Lloyd's.</p> + +<p>She was near the last factory when she met a man hastening along +with bent shoulders, of intent, middle-aged progress. After he had +passed her with a careless glance at the small, swift figure, she +smelt coffee. He was carrying home a pound for his breakfast supply. +That suddenly made her cry, though she did not know why. That +familiar odor of home and the wontedness of life made her isolation +on her little atom of the unusual more pitiful. The man turned round +sharply when she sobbed. “Hullo! what's the matter, sis?” +he called back, in a pleasant, hoarse voice. Ellen did not answer; +she fled as if she had wings on her feet. The man had many children +of his own, and was accustomed to their turbulence over trifles. He +kept on, thinking that there was a sulky child who had been sent on +an errand against her will, that it was not late, and she was safe +enough on that road. He resumed his calculation as to whether his +income would admit of a new coal-stove that winter. He was a workman +in a factory, with one accumulative interest in +life—coal-stoves. He bought and traded and swapped coal-stoves +every winter with keenest enthusiasm. Now he had one in his mind +which he had just viewed in a window with the rapture of an artist. +It had a little nickel statuette on the top, and that quite crowded +Ellen out of his mind, which had but narrow accommodations.</p> + +<p>So Ellen kept on unmolested, though her heart was beating loud +with fright. When she came into the brilliantly lighted stretch of +Main Street, which was the business centre of the city, her childish +mind was partly diverted from herself. Ellen had not been down town +many times of an evening, and always in hand of her hurrying father +or mother. Now she had run away and cut loose from all restrictions +of time; there was an eternity for observation before her, with no +call in-doors in prospect. She stopped at the first bright shop +window, and suddenly the exultation of freedom was over the child. +She tasted the sweets of rebellion and disobedience. She had stood +before that window once before of an evening, and her aunt Eva had +been with her, and one of her young men friends had come up behind, +and they had gone on, the child dragging backward at her aunt's hand. +Now she could stand as long as she wished, and stare and stare, and +drink in everything which her childish imagination craved, and that +was much. The imagination of a child is often like a voracious maw, +seizing upon all that comes within reach, and producing spiritual +indigestions and assimilations almost endless in their effects upon +the growth. This window before which Ellen stood was that of a +market: a great expanse of plate-glass framing a crude study in the +clearest color tones. It takes a child or an artist to see a picture +without the intrusion of its second dimension of sordid use and the +gross reflection of humanity.</p> + +<p>Ellen looked at the great shelf laid upon with flesh and +vegetables and fruits with the careless precision of a kaleidoscope, +and did not for one instant connect anything thereon with the ends of +physical appetite, though she had not had her supper. What had a meal +of beefsteak and potatoes and squash served on the little white-laid +table at home to do with those great golden globes which made one end +of the window like the remove from a mine, those satin-smooth +spheres, those cuts as of red and white marble? She had eaten apples, +but these were as the apples of the gods, lying in a heap of +opulence, with a precious light-spot like a ruby on every outward +side. The turnips affected her imagination like ivory carvings: she +did not recognize them for turnips at all. She never afterwards +believed them to be turnips; and as for cabbages, they were green +inflorescences of majestic bloom. There is one position from which +all common things can be seen with reflections of preciousness, and +Ellen had insensibly taken it. The window and the shop behind were +illuminated with the yellow glare of gas, but the glass was filmed +here and there with frost, which tempered it as with a veil. In the +background rosy-faced men in white frocks were moving to and fro, +customers were passing in and out, but they were all glorified to the +child. She did not see them as butchers, and as men and women selling +and buying dinners.</p> + +<p>However, all at once everything was spoiled, for her fairy castle +of illusion or a higher reality was demolished, and that not by any +blow of practicality, but by pity and sentiment. Ellen was a +woman-child, and suddenly she struck the rock upon which women so +often wreck or effect harbor, whichever it may be. All at once she +looked up from the dazzling mosaic of the window and saw the dead +partridges and grouse hanging in their rumpled brown mottle of +plumage, and the dead rabbits, long and stark, with their fur pointed +with frost, hanging in a piteous headlong company, and all her +delight and wonder vanished, and she came down to the hard +actualities of things. “Oh, the poor birds!” she cried +out in her heart. “Oh, the poor birds, and the poor +bunnies!”</p> + +<p>Just at that moment, when the sudden rush of compassion and +indignation had swollen her heart to the size of a woman's, and given +it the aches of one, when her eyes were so dilated with the sight of +helpless injury and death that they reflected the mystery of it and +lost the outlook of childhood, when her pretty baby mouth was curved +like an inverted bow of love with the impulse of tears, Cynthia +Lennox came up the street and stopped short when she reached her.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Ellen felt some one pressing close to her, and, looking +up, saw a woman, only middle-aged, but whom she thought very old, +because her hair was white, standing looking at her very keenly with +clear, light-blue eyes under a high, pale forehead, from which the +gray hair was combed uncompromisingly back. The woman had been a +beauty once, of a delicate, nervous type, and had a certain beauty +now, a something which had endured like the fineness of texture of a +web when its glow of color has faded. Her black garments draped her +with sober richness, and there was a gleam of dark fur when the wind +caught her cloak. A small tuft of ostrich plumes nodded from her +bonnet. Ellen smelt flowers vaguely, and looked at the lady's hand, +but she did not carry any.</p> + +<p>“Whose little girl are you?” Cynthia Lennox asked, +softly, and Ellen did not answer. “Can't you tell me whose +little girl you are?” Cynthia Lennox asked again. Ellen did +not speak, but there was the swift flicker of a thought over her face +which told her name as plainly as language if the woman had possessed +the skill to interpret it.</p> + +<p>“Ellen Brewster—Ellen Brewster is my name,” +Ellen said to herself very hard, and that was how she endured the +reproach of her own silence.</p> + +<p>The woman looked at her with surprise and admiration that were +fairly passionate. Ellen was a beautiful child, with a face like a +white flower. People had always turned to look after her, she was so +charming, and had caused her mothers heart to swell with pride. +“The way everybody we met has stared after that child +to-day!” she would whisper her husband when she brought Ellen +home from some little expedition; then the two would look at the +little one's face with the one holy vanity of the world. Ellen wore +to-night the little white shawl which her father had caught up when +he carried her over to her grandmother's. She held it tightly +together under her chin with one tiny hand, and her face looked out +from between the soft folds with the absolute purity of curve and +color of a pearl.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you darling!” said the woman, suddenly; +“you darling!” and Ellen shrank away from her. +“Don't be afraid, dear,” said Cynthia Lennox. +“Don't be afraid, only tell me who you are. What is your name, +dear?” But Ellen remained silent; only, as she shrank aloof, +her eyes grew wild and bright with startled tears, and her sweet baby +mouth quivered piteously. She wanted to run, but the habit of +obedience was so strong upon her little mind that she feared to do +so. This strange woman seemed to have gotten her in some invisible +leash.</p> + +<p>“Tell me what your name is, darling,” said the woman, +but she might as well have importuned a flower. Ellen was proof +against all commands in that direction. She suddenly felt the furry +sweep of the lady's cloak against her cheek, and a nervous, tender +arm drawing her close, though she strove feebly to resist. “You +are cold, you have nothing on but this little white shawl, and +perhaps you are hungry. What were you looking in this window for? +Tell me, dear, where is your mother? She did not send you on an +errand, such a little girl as you are, so late on such a cold night, +with no more on than this?”</p> + +<p>A tone of indignation crept into the lady's voice.</p> + +<p>“No, mother didn't send me,” Ellen said, speaking for +the first time.</p> + +<p>“Then did you run away, dear?” Ellen was silent. +“Oh, if you did, darling, you must tell me where you live, what +your father's name is, and I will take you home. Tell me, dear. If it +is far, I will get a carriage, and you shall ride home. Tell me, +dear.”</p> + +<p>There was an utmost sweetness of maternal persuasion in Cynthia +Lennox's voice; Ellen was swayed by it as a child might have been +swayed by the magic pipe of the Pied Piper of Hamelin. She half +yielded to her leading motion, then she remembered. “No,” +she cried out, with a sob of utter desolation. “No, +no.”</p> + +<p>“Why not, dear?”</p> + +<p>“They don't want; they don't want. No, no!”</p> + +<p>“They don't want you? Your own father and mother don't want +you? Darling, what is the matter?” But Ellen was dumb again. +She stood sobbing, with a painful restraint, and pulling futilely +from the lady's persuasive hand. But it ended in the mastery of the +child. Suddenly Cynthia Lennox gathered her up in her arms under her +great fur-lined cloak, and carried her a little farther down the +street, then across it to a dwelling-house, one of the very few which +had withstood the march of business blocks on this crowded main +street of the provincial city. A few people looked curiously at the +lady carrying such a heavy, weeping child, but she met no one whom +she knew, and the others looked indifferently away after a second +backward stare. Cynthia Lennox was one to bear herself with such +dignity over all jolts of circumstances that she might almost +convince others of her own exemption from them. Her mental bearing +disproved the evidence of the senses, and she could have committed a +crime with such consummate self-poise and grace as to have held a +crowd in abeyance with utter distrust of their own eyes before such +unquestioning confidence in the sovereignty of the situation. Cynthia +Lennox had always had her own way except in one respect, and that +experience had come to her lately.</p> + +<p>Though she was such a slender woman, she seemed to have great +strength in her arms, and she bore Ellen easily and as if she had +been used to such a burden. She wrapped her cloak closely around the +child.</p> + +<p>“Don't be afraid, darling,” she kept whispering. Ellen +panted in bewilderment, and a terror which was half assuaged by +something like fascination.</p> + +<p>She was conscious of a soft smother of camphor, in which the +fur-lined cloak had lain through the summer, and of that flower odor, +which was violets, though she did not know it. Only the wild American +scentless ones had come in little Ellen's way so far.</p> + +<p>She felt herself carried up steps, then a door was thrown open, +and a warm breath of air came in her face, and the cloak was tossed +back, and she was set softly on the floor. The hall in which she +stood seemed very bright; she blinked and rubbed her eyes.</p> + +<p>The lady stood over her, laughing gently, and when the child +looked up at her, seemed much younger than she had at first, very +young in spite of her white hair. There was a soft red on her cheek; +her lips looked full and triumphant with smiles; her eyes were like +stars. An emotion of her youth which had never become dulled by +satisfaction had suddenly blossomed out on her face, and transformed +it. An unassuaged longing may serve to preserve youth as well as an +undestroyed illusion; indeed, the two are one. Cynthia Lennox looked +at the child as if she had been a young mother, and she her +first-born; triumph over the future, and daring for all odds, and +perfect faith in the kingdom of joy were in her look. Had she nursed +one child like Ellen to womanhood, and tasted the bitter in the cup, +she would not have been capable of that look, and would have been as +old as her years. She threw off her cloak and took off her bonnet, +and the light struck her hair and made it look like silver. A brooch +in the laces at her throat shone with a thousand hues, and as Ellen +gazed at it she felt curiously dull and dizzy. She did not resist at +all when the lady removed her little white shawl, but stared at her +with the look of some small and helpless thing in too large a grasp +of destiny to admit of a struggle. “Oh, you darling!” +Cynthia Lennox said, and stooped and kissed her, and half carried her +into a great, warm, dazzling room, with light reflected in long lines +of gold from picture-frames on the wall, and now and then startling +patches of lurid color blazing forth unmeaningly from the dark +incline of their canvases, with gleams of crystal and shadows of +bronze in settings of fretted ebony, with long swayings of rich +draperies at doors and windows, a red light of fire in a grate, and +two white lights, one of piano keys, the other of a flying marble +figure in a corner, outlined clearly against dusky red. The light in +this room was very dim. It was all beyond Ellen's imagination. The +White North where the Norway spruces lived would not have seemed as +strange to her as this. Neither would Bluebeard's Castle, nor the +House that Jack Built, nor the Palace of King Solomon, nor the tent +in which lived little Joseph in his coat of many colors, nor even the +Garden of Eden, nor Noah's Ark. Her imagination had not prepared her +for a room like this. She had formed her ideas of rooms upon her +grandmother's and her mother's and the neighbors' best parlors, with +their glories of crushed plush and gilt and onyx and cheap lace and +picture-throws and lambrequins. This room was such a heterodoxy +against her creed of civilization that it did not look beautiful to +her as much as strange and bewildering, and when she was bidden to +sit down in a little inlaid precious chair she put down her tiny hand +and reflected, with a sense of strengthening of her household faith, +that her grandmother had beautiful, smooth, shiny hair-cloth.</p> + +<p>Cynthia Lennox pulled the chair close to the fire, and bade her +hold out her little feet to the blaze to warm them well. “I am +afraid you are chilled, darling,” she said, and looked at her +sitting there in her dainty little red cashmere frock, with her +spread of baby-yellow hair over her shoulders. Then Ellen thought +that the lady was younger than her mother; but her mother had borne +her and nursed her, and suffered and eaten of the tree of knowledge, +and tasted the bitter after the sweet; and this other woman was but +as a child in the garden, though she was fairly old. But along with +Ellen's conviction of the lady's youth had come a conviction of her +power, and she yielded to her unquestioningly. Whenever she came near +her she gazed with dilating eyes upon the blazing circle of diamonds +at her throat.</p> + +<p>When she was bidden, she followed the lady into the dining-room, +where the glitter of glass and silver and the soft gleam of precious +china made her think for a little while that she must be in a store. +She had never seen anything like this except in a store, when she had +been with her mother to buy a lamp-chimney. So she decided this to be +a store, but she said nothing. She did not speak at all, but she ate +her biscuits, and slice of breast of chicken, and sponge-cake, and +drank her milk.</p> + +<p>She had her milk in a little silver cup which seemed as if it +might have belonged to another child; she also sat in a small +high-chair, which made it seem as if another child had lived or +visited in the house. Ellen became singularly possessed with this +sense of the presence of a child, and when the door opened she would +look around for her to enter, but it was always an old black woman +with a face of imperturbable bronze, which caused her to huddle +closer into her chair when she drew near.</p> + +<p>There were not many colored people in the city, and Ellen had +never seen any except at Long Beach, where she had sometimes gone to +have a shore dinner with her mother and Aunt Eva. Then she always +used to shrink when the black waiter drew near, and her mother and +aunt would be convulsed with furtive mirth. “See the little +gump,” her mother would say in the tenderest tone, and look +about to see if others at the other tables saw how cunning she +was—what a charming little goose to be afraid of a colored +waiter.</p> + +<p>Ellen saw nobody except the lady and the black woman, but she was +still sure that there was a child in the house, and after supper, +when she was taken up-stairs to bed, she peeped through every open +door with the expectation of seeing her.</p> + +<p>But she was so weary and sleepy that her curiosity and capacity +for any other emotion was blunted. She had become simply a little, +tired, sleepy animal. She let herself be undressed; she was not even +moved to much self-pity when the lady discovered the cruel bruise on +her delicate knee, and kissed it, and dressed it with a healing +salve. She was put into a little night-gown which she knew dreamily +belonged to that other child, and was laid in a little bedstead which +she noted to be made of gold, with floating lace over the head.</p> + +<p>She sleepily noted, too, that there were flowers on the walls, and +more floating lace over the bureau. This room did not look so strange +to her as the others; she had somehow from the treasures of her fancy +provided the family of big bears and little bears with a similar one. +Then, too, one of the neighbors, Mrs. George Crocker, had read many +articles in women's papers relative to the beautifying of homes, and +had furnished a wonderful chamber with old soap-boxes and rolls of +Japanese paper which was a sort of a cousin many times removed of +this. When she was in bed the lady kissed her, and called her +darling, and bade her sleep well, and not be afraid, she was in the +next room, and could hear if she spoke. Then she stood looking at +her, and Ellen thought that she must be younger than Minnie Swensen, +who lived on her street, and wore a yellow pigtail, and went to the +high-school. Then she closed her heavy eyes, and forgot to cry about +her poor father and mother; still, there was, after all, a hurt about +them down in her childish heart, though a great wave of new +circumstances had rolled on her shore and submerged for the time her +memory and her love, even, she was so feeble and young.</p> + +<p>She slept very soundly, and awoke only once, about two o'clock in +the morning. Then a passing lantern flashed into the chamber into her +eyes, and woke her up, but she only sighed and stretched drowsily, +then turned her little body over with a luxurious roll and went to +sleep again.</p> + +<p>It was poor Andrew Brewster's lantern which flashed in her eyes, +for he was out with a posse of police and sympathizing neighbors and +friends searching for his lost little girl. He was frantic, and when +he came under the gas-lights from time to time the men that saw him +shuddered; they would not have known him, for almost the farthest +agony of which he was capable had changed his face.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter III</h3> + +<p>By the next morning all the city was in a commotion over little +Ellen's disappearance. Woods on the outskirts were being searched, +ponds were being dragged, posters with a stare of dreadful meaning in +large characters of black and white were being pasted all over the +fences and available barns, and already three of the local editors +had been to the Brewster house to obtain particulars and photographs +of the missing child for reproduction in the city papers.</p> + +<p>The first train from Boston brought two reporters representing +great dailies.</p> + +<p>Fanny Brewster, white-cheeked, with the rasped redness of tears +around her eyes and mouth, clad in her blue calico wrapper, received +them in her best parlor. Eva had made a fire in the best parlor stove +early that morning. “Folks will be comin' in all day, I +expect,” said she, speaking with nervous catches of her breath. +Ever since the child had been missed, Eva's anxiety had driven her +from point to point of unrest as with a stinging lash. She had pelted +bareheaded down the road and up the road; she had invaded all the +neighbors' houses, insisting upon looking through their farthest and +most unlikely closets; she had even penetrated to the woods, and +joined wild-eyed the groups of peering workers on the shore of the +nearest pond. That she could not endure long, so she had rushed home +to her sister, who was either pacing her sitting-room with +inarticulate murmurs and wails of distress in the sympathizing ears +of several of the neighboring women, or else was staring with haggard +eyes of fearful hope from a window. When she looked from the eastern +window she could see her mother-in-law, Mrs. Zelotes Brewster, at an +opposite one, sitting immovable, with her Bible in her lap, prayer in +her heart, and an eye of grim holding to faith upon the road for the +fulfilment of promise. She felt all her muscles stiffen with anger +when she saw the wild eyes of the child's mother at the other window. +“It is all her fault,” she said to +herself—“all her fault—hers and that bold trollop +of a sister of hers.” When she saw Eva run down the road, with +her black hair rising like a mane to the morning wind, she was an +embodiment of an imprecatory psalm. When, later on, she saw the three +editors coming—Mr. Walsey, of <cite>The Spy</cite>, and Mr. +Jones, of <cite>The Observer</cite>, and young Joe Bemis, of +<cite>The Star</cite>, on his bicycle—she watched jealously to +see if they were admitted. When Fanny's head disappeared from the +eastern window she knew that Eva had let them in and Fanny was +receiving them in the parlor. “She will tell them all about the +words they had last night, that made the dear child run away,” +she thought. “All the town will know what doings there are in +our family.” Mrs. Zelotes made up her mind to a course of +action. Each editor was granted a long audience with Fanny and Eva, +who entertained them with hysterical solemnity and displayed Ellen's +photographs in the red plush album, from the last, taken in her best +white frock, to one when she was three weeks old, and seeming weakly +and not likely to live. This had been taken by a photographer +summoned to the house at great expense. “Her father has never +spared expense for Ellen,” said Fanny, with an outburst of +grief. “That's so,” said Eva. “I'll testify to +that. Andrew Brewster never thought anything was too good for that +young one.” Then she burst out with a sob louder than her +sister's. Eva had usually a coarsely well-kempt appearance, her heavy +black hair being securely twisted, and her neck ribbons tied with +smart jerks of neatness; but to-day her hair was still in the fringy +braids of yesterday, and her cotton blouse humped untidily in the +back. Her face was red and her lips swollen; she looked like a very +bacchante of sorrow, and as if she had been on some mad orgy of +grief.</p> + +<p>Mr. Walsey, of <cite>The Spy</cite>, who had formerly conducted a +paper in a college town and was not accustomed to the feminine +possibilities of manufacturing localities, felt almost afraid of her. +He had never seen a woman of that sort, and thought vaguely of the +French Revolution and fish-wives when she gave vent to her distress +over the loss of the child. He fairly jumped when she cut short a +question of his with a volley of self-recriminatory truths, +accompanied with fierce gesturing. He stood back involuntarily out of +reach of those powerful, waving arms. “Do I know of any reason +for the child to run away?” shrieked Eva, in a voice shrilly +hideous with emotion, now and then breaking into hoarseness with the +strain of tears. “I guess I know why, I guess I do, and I wish +I had been six foot under ground before I did what I did. It was all +my fault, every bit of it. When I got home, and found that Fan had +been making that precious young one a dress out of my old blue one, I +pitched into her for it, and she gave it back to me, and then we +jawed, and kept it up, till Andrew, he grabbed the dress and flung it +into the fire, and did just right, too, and took Ellen and run over +to old lady Brewster's with her; then Ellen, she see him cryin', and +it scared her 'most to death, poor little thing, and she heard him +say that if it wasn't for her he'd quit, and then she come runnin' +home to her mother and me, and her mother said the same thing, and +then that poor young one, she thought she wa'n't wanted nowheres, and +she run. She always was as easy to hurt as a baby robin; it didn't +take nothing to set her all of a flutter and a twitter; and now she's +just flown out of the nest. Oh my God, I wish my tongue had been torn +out by the roots before I'd said a word about her blessed little +dress; I wish Fan had cut up every old rag I've got; I'd go dressed +in fig-leaves before I'd had it happen. Oh! oh! oh!”</p> + +<p>Young Joe Bemis, of <cite>The Star</cite>, was the first to leave, +whirling madly and precariously down the street on his wheel, which +was dizzily tall in those days. Mrs. Zelotes, hailing him from her +open window, might as well have hailed the wind. Her family +dissensions were well aired in <cite>The Star</cite> next morning, +and she always kept the cutting at the bottom of a little rosewood +work-box where she stored away divers small treasures, and never +looked at the box without a swift dart of pain as from a hidden sting +and the consciousness as of the presence of some noxious insect caged +therein.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Zelotes was more successful in arresting the progress of the +other editors, and (standing at the window, her Bible on the little +table at her side) flatly contradicted all that had been told them by +her daughter-in-law and her sister. “The Louds always give way, +no matter what comes up. You can always tell what kind of a family +anybody comes from by the way they take things when anything comes +across them. You can't depend on anything she says this morning. My +son did not marry just as I wished; everybody knows that; the Louds +weren't equal to our family, and everybody knows it, and I have never +made any secret as to how I felt, but we have always got along well +enough. The Brewsters are not quarrelsome; they never have been. +There were no words whatever last night to make my granddaughter run +away. Eva and Fanny are all wrong about it. Ellen has been stolen; I +know it as well as if I had seen it. A strange-looking woman came to +the door yesterday afternoon; she was the tallest woman I ever saw, +and she took the widest steps; she measured her dress skirt every +step she took, and she spoke gruff. I said then I knew she was a man +dressed up. Ellen was playing out in the yard, and she saw the child +as she went out, and I see her stoop and look at her real sharp, and +my blood run kind of cold then, and I called Ellen away as quick as I +could; and the woman, she turned round and gave me a look that I +won't ever forget as long as I live. My belief is that that woman was +laying in wait when Ellen was going across the yard home from here +last night, and she has got her safe somewhere till a reward is +offered. Or maybe she wants to keep her, Ellen is such a beautiful +child. You needn't put in your papers that my grandchild run away +because of quarrelling in our family, because she didn't. Eva and +Fanny don't know what they are talking about, they are so wrought up; +and, coming from the family they do, they don't know how to control +themselves and show any sense. I feel it as much as they do, but I +have been sitting here all the morning; I know I can't do anything to +help, and I am working a good deal harder, waiting, than they are, +rushing from pillar to post and taking on, and I'm doing more good. I +shall be the only one fit to do anything when they find the poor +child. I've got blankets warming by the fire, and my tea-kettle on, +and I'm going to be the one to depend on when she's brought +home.” Mrs. Zelotes gave a glance of defiant faith from the +window down the road as she spoke. Then she settled back in her chair +and resumed her Bible, and dismissed the tall and forbidding woman +whom she had summoned to save the honor of her family resolutely from +her conscience. The editors of <cite>The Spy</cite> and <cite>The +Observer</cite> had a row of ingratiating photographs of little Ellen +from three weeks to seven years of age; and their opinions as to the +cause of her disappearance, while fully agreeing in all points of +sensationalism with those of young Bemis, of <cite>The Star</cite>, +differed in detail.</p> + +<p>Young Bemis read about the mysterious kidnapper, and wondered, and +the demand for <cite>The Star</cite> was chiefly among the immediate +neighbors of the Brewsters. Both <cite>The Observer</cite> and +<cite>The Spy</cite> doubled their circulation in one day, and every +face on the night cars was hidden behind poor little Ellen's baby +countenances and the fairy-story of the witch-woman who had lured her +away. Mothers kept their children carefully in-doors that evening, +and pulled down curtains, fearful lest She look in the windows and be +tempted. Mrs. Zelotes also waylaid both of the Boston reporters, but +with results upon which she had not counted. One presented her story +and Fanny's and Eva's with impartial justice; the other kept wholly +to the latter version, with the addition of a shrewd theory of his +own, deduced from the circumstances which had a parallel in actual +history, and boldly stated that the child had probably committed +suicide on account of family troubles. Poor Fanny and Eva both saw +that, when night was falling and Ellen had not been found. Eva rushed +out and secured the paper from the newsboy, and the two sisters +gasped over the startling column together.</p> + +<p>“It's a lie! oh, Fanny, it's a lie!” cried Eva. +“She never would; oh, she never would! That little thing, just +because she heard you and me scoldin', and you said that to her, that +if it wasn't for her you'd go away. She never would.”</p> + +<p>“Go away?” sobbed Fanny—“go away? I +wouldn't go away from hell if she was there. I would burn; I would +hear the clankin' of chains, and groans, and screeches, and devils +whisperin' in my ears what I had done wrong, for all eternity, before +I'd go where they were playin' harps in heaven, if she was there. I'd +like it better, I would. And I'd stay here if I had twenty sisters I +didn't get along with, and be happier than I would be anywhere else +on earth, if she was here. But she couldn't have done it. She didn't +know how. It's awful to put such things into papers.”</p> + +<p>Eva jumped up with a fierce gesture, ran to the stove, and crammed +the paper in. “There!” said she; “I wish I could +serve all the papers in the country the same way. I do, and I'd like +to put all the editors in after 'em. I'd like to put 'em in the stove +with their own papers for kindlin's.” Suddenly Eva turned with +a swish of skirts, and was out of the room and pounding up-stairs, +shaking the little house with every step. When she returned she bore +over her arm her best dress—a cherished blue silk, ornate with +ribbons and cheap lace. “Where's that pattern?” she asked +her sister.</p> + +<p>“She wouldn't ever do such a thing,” moaned Fanny.</p> + +<p>“Where's that pattern?”</p> + +<p>“What pattern?” Fanny said, faintly.</p> + +<p>“That little dress pattern. Her little dress pattern, the +one you cut over my dress for her by.”</p> + +<p>“In the bureau drawer in my room. Oh, she +wouldn't.”</p> + +<p>Eva went into the bedroom, returned with the pattern, got the +scissors from Fanny's work-basket, and threw her best silk dress in a +rustling heap upon the table.</p> + +<p>Fanny stopped moaning and looked at her with wretched wonder. +“What be you goin' to do?”</p> + +<p>“Do?” cried Eva, fiercely—“do? I'm goin' +to cut this dress over for her.”</p> + +<p>“You ain't.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I be. If I drove her away from home, scoldin' because +you cut over that other old thing of mine for her, I'm goin' to make +up for it now. I'm goin' to give her my best blue silk, that I paid a +dollar and a half a yard for, and 'ain't worn three times. Yes, I be. +She's goin' to have a dress cut out of it, an' she's comin' back to +wear it, too. You'll see she is comin' home to wear it.”</p> + +<p>Eva cut wildly into the silk with mad slashes of her gleaming +shears, while two neighboring women, who had just come into the room, +stared aghast, and even Fanny was partly diverted from her +sorrow.</p> + +<p>“She's crazy,” whispered one of the women, backing +away as she spoke.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Eva, don't; don't do so,” pleaded Fanny, +tremulously.</p> + +<p>“I be,” said Eva, and she cut recklessly up the front +breadth.</p> + +<p>“You ain't cutting it right,” said the other neighbor, +who was skilful in such matters, and never fully moved from her own +household grooves by any excitement. “If you are a-goin' to cut +it at all, you had better cut it right.”</p> + +<p>“I don't care how I cut it,” returned Eva, thrusting +the woman away. “Oh, I don't care how I cut it; I want to waste +it. I will waste it.”</p> + +<p>The other neighbor backed entirely out of the room, then turned +and fled across the yard, her calico wrapper blowing wildly and +lashing about her slender legs, to her own house, the doors of which +she locked. Presently the other woman followed her, stepping with the +ponderous leisure which results from vastness of body and philosophy +of mind. The autumn wind, swirling in impetuous gusts, had little +effect upon her broadside of woollen shawl. She had not come out on +that raw evening with nothing upon her head. She shook the kitchen +door of her friend, and smiled with calm reassurance when it was +cautiously set ajar to disclose a wide-eyed and open-mouthed face of +terror. “Who is it?”</p> + +<p>“It's me. What have you got your door locked for?”</p> + +<p>“I think that Eva Loud is raving crazy. I'm afraid of +her.”</p> + +<p>“Lord! you 'ain't no reason to be 'fraid of her. She ain't +crazy. She's only lettin' the birds that fly over your an' my heads +settle down to roost. You and me, both of us, if we was situated jest +as she is, might think of doin' jest what she's a-doin', but we won't +neither of us do it. We'd let our best dresses hang in the closet, +safe and sound, while we cut them up in our souls; but Eva, she's +different.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don't care. I believe she's crazy, and I'm going to +keep my doors locked. How do you know she hasn't killed Ellen and put +her in the well?”</p> + +<p>“Stuff! Now you're lettin' your birds roost, Hattie +Monroe.”</p> + +<p>“I read something that wasn't any worse than that in the +paper the other day. I should think they would look in the well. Have +Mrs. Jones and Miss Cross gone home?”</p> + +<p>“No; they are over there. There's poor Andrew coming now; I +wonder if he has heard anything?”</p> + +<p>Both women eyed hesitatingly poor Andrew Brewster's dejected +figure creeping up the road in the dark.</p> + +<p>“You holler and ask him,” said the woman in the +door.</p> + +<p>“I hate to, for I know by his looks he 'ain't heard anything +of her. I know he's jest comin' home to rest a minute, so he can +start again. I know he 'ain't eat a thing since last night. Well, +Maria has got some coffee all made, and a nice little piece of steak +ready to cook.”</p> + +<p>“You holler and ask him.”</p> + +<p>“What is the use? Just see the way he walks; I know without +askin'.”</p> + +<p>However, as Andrew neared his house he involuntarily quickened his +pace, and his head and shoulders became suddenly alert. It had +occurred to him that possibly Fanny and Eva might have had some news +of Ellen during his absence. Possibly she might have come home +even.</p> + +<p>Then he was hailed by the stout woman standing at the door of the +next house. “Heard anything yet, Andrew?”</p> + +<p>Andrew shook his head, and looked with despairing eyes at the +windows where he used to see Ellen's little face. She had not come, +then, for these women would have known it. He entered the house, and +Fanny greeted him with a tremulous cry. “Have you heard +anything; oh, have you heard anything, Andrew?”</p> + +<p>Eva sprang forward and clutched him by the arm.</p> + +<p>“Have you?”</p> + +<div align="center"> +<a href="images/plimage2.jpg"> +<img src="images/plimage2.jpg" width="445" height="688" +alt="Eva sprang forward and clutched him by the arm"></a> +</div> + +<p>Andrew shook his head, and moved her hand from his arm, and pushed +past her roughly.</p> + +<p>Fanny stood in his way, and threw her arms around him with a wild, +sobbing cry, but he pushed her away also with sternness, and went to +the kitchen sink to wash his hands. The four women—his wife, +her sister, and the two neighbors—stood staring at him; his +face was terrible as he dipped the water from the pail on the sink +corner, and the terribleness of it was accentuated by the homely and +every-day nature of his action.</p> + +<p>They all stared, then Fanny burst out with a loud and desperate +wail. “He won't speak to me, he pushes me away, when it is our +child that's lost—his as well as mine. He hasn't any feelings +for me that bore her. He only thinks of himself. Oh, oh, my own +husband pushes me away.”</p> + +<p>Andrew went on washing his hands and his ghastly face, and made no +reply. He had actually at that moment not the slightest sympathy with +his wife. All his other outlets of affection were choked by his +concern for his lost child; and as for pity, he kept reflecting, with +a cold cruelty, that it served her right—it served both her and +her sister right. Had not they driven the child away between +them?</p> + +<p>He would not eat the supper which the neighbors had prepared for +him; finally he went across the yard to his mother's. It seemed to +him at that time that his mother could enter into his state of mind +better than any one else.</p> + +<p>When he went out, Fanny called after him, frantically, “Oh, +Andrew, you ain't going to leave me?”</p> + +<p>When he made no response, she gazed for a second at his retreating +back, then her temper came to her aid. She caught her sister's arm, +and pulled her away out of the kitchen. “Come with me,” +she said, hoarsely. “I've got nobody but you. My own husband +leaves me when he is in such awful trouble, and goes to that old +woman, that has always hated me, for comfort.”</p> + +<p>The sisters went into Fanny's bedroom, and sat down on the edge of +the bed, with their arms round each other. “Oh, Fanny!” +sobbed Eva; “poor, poor Fanny! if Andrew turns against you, I +will stand by you as long as I live. I will work my fingers to the +bone to support you and Ellen. I will never get married. I will stay +and work for you and her. And I will never get mad with you again as +long as I live, Fanny. Oh, it was all my fault, every bit my fault, +but, but—” Eva's voice broke; suddenly she clasped her +sister tighter, and then she went down on her knees beside the bed, +and hid her tangled head in her lap. “Oh, Fanny,” she +sobbed out miserably, “there ain't much excuse for me, but +there's a little. When Jim Tenny stopped goin' with me last summer, +my heart 'most broke. I don't care if you do know it. That's what +made me so much worse than I used to be. Oh, my heart 'most broke, +Fanny! He's treated me awful, but I can't get over it; and now little +Ellen's gone, and I drove her away!”</p> + +<p>Fanny bent over her sister, and pressed her head close to her +bosom. “Don't you feel so bad, Eva,” said she. “You +wasn't any more to blame than I was, and we'll stand by each other as +long as we live.”</p> + +<p>“I'll work my fingers to the bone for you and Ellen, and +I'll never get married,” said Eva again.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter IV</h3> + +<p>Ellen Brewster was two nights and a day at Cynthia Lennox's, and +no one discovered it. All day the searching-parties passed the house. +Once Ellen was at the window, and one of the men looked up and saw +her, and since his solicitude for the lost child filled his heart +with responsiveness towards all childhood, he waved his hand and +nodded, and bade another man look at that handsome little kid in the +window.</p> + +<p>“Guess she's about Ellen's size,” said the other.</p> + +<p>“Shouldn't wonder if she looked something like her,” +said the first.</p> + +<p>“Answers the description well enough,” said the other, +“same light hair.”</p> + +<p>Both of the men waved their hands to Ellen as they passed on, but +she shrank back afraid. That was about ten o'clock of the morning of +the day after Miss Lennox had taken her into her house. She had waked +at dawn with a full realization of the situation. She remembered +perfectly all that had happened. She was a child for whom there were +very few half-lights of life, and no spiritual twilights connected +her sleeping and waking hours. She opened her eyes and looked around +the room, and remembered how she had run away and how her mother was +not there, and she remembered the strange lady with that same odd +combination of terror and attraction and docility with which she had +regarded her the night before. It was a very cold morning, and there +was a delicate film of frost on the windows between the sweeps of the +muslin curtains, and the morning sun gave it a rosy glow and a +crusting sparkle as of diamonds. The sight of the frost had broken +poor Andrew Brewster's heart when he saw it, and reflected how it +might have meant death to his little tender child out under the +blighting fall of it, like a little house-flower.</p> + +<p>Ellen lay winking at it when Cynthia Lennox came into the room and +leaned over her. The child cast a timid glance up at the tall, +slender figure clad in a dressing-gown of quilted crimson silk which +dazzled her eyes, accustomed as she was to morning wrappers of +dark-blue cotton at ninety-eight cents apiece; and she was filled +with undefined apprehensions of splendor and opulence which might +overwhelm her simple grasp of life and cause her to lose all her old +standards of value.</p> + +<p>She had always thought her mother's wrappers very beautiful, but +now look at this! Cynthia's face, too, in the dim, rosy light, looked +very fair to the child, who had no discernment for those ravages of +time of which adults either acquit themselves or by which they +measure their own. She did not see the faded color of the woman's +face at all; she did not see the spreading marks around mouth and +eyes, or the faint parallels of care on the temples; she saw only +that which her unbiased childish vision had ever sought in a human +face, love and kindness, and tender admiration of herself; and her +conviction of its beauty was complete. But at the same time a bitter +and piteous jealousy for her mother and home, and all that she had +ever loved and believed in, came over her. What right had this +strange woman, dressed in a silk dress like that, to be leaning over +her in the morning, and looking at her like that—to be leaning +over her in the morning instead of her own mother, and looking at her +in that way, when she was not her mother? She shrank away towards the +other side of the bed with that nestling motion which is the natural +one of all young and gentle children even towards vacancy, but +suddenly Cynthia was leaning close over her, and she was conscious +again of that soft smother of violets, and Cynthia's arms were +embracing all her delicate little body with tenderest violence, +folding her against the soft red silk over her bosom, and kissing her +little, blushing cheeks with the lightest and carefulest kisses, as +though she were a butterfly which she feared to harm with her adoring +touch.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you darling, you precious darling!” whispered +Cynthia. “Don't be afraid, darling; don't be afraid, precious; +you are very safe; don't be afraid. You shall have such a little, +white, new-laid egg for your breakfast, and some slices of toast, +such a beautiful brown, and some honey. Do you love honey, sweet? And +some chocolate, all in a little pink-and-gold cup which you shall +have for your very own.”</p> + +<p>“I want my mother!” Ellen cried out suddenly, with an +exceedingly bitter and terrified and indignant cry.</p> + +<p>“There, there, darling!” Cynthia whispered; +“there is a beautiful red-and-green parrot down-stairs in a +great cage that shines like gold, and you shall have him for your +own, and he can talk. You shall have him for your very own, +sweetheart. Oh, you darling! you darling!”</p> + +<p>Ellen felt herself overborne and conquered by this tide of love, +which compelled like her mother's, though this woman was not her +mother, and her revolt of loyalty was subdued for the time. After +all, whether we like it or not, love is somewhat of an impersonal +quality to all children, and perhaps to their elders, and it may be +in such wise that the goddess is evident.</p> + +<p>She did not shrink from Cynthia any more then, but suffered her to +lift her out of bed as if she were a baby and set her on a white fur +rug, into which her feet sank, to her astonishment. Her mother had +only drawn-in rugs, which Ellen had watched her make. She was a +little afraid of the fur rug.</p> + +<p>Ellen was very small, and seemed much younger than she was by +reason of her baby silence and her little clinging ways. Then, too, +she had always been so petted at home, and through never going to +school had not been in contact with other children. Often the bloom +of childhood is soonest rubbed off by friction with its own kind. +Diamond cut diamond holds good in many cases.</p> + +<p>Cynthia did not think she was more than six years old, and never +dreamed of allowing her to dress herself, and indeed the child had +always been largely assisted in so doing. Cynthia washed her and +dressed her, and curled her hair, and led her down-stairs into the +dining-room of the night before, which Ellen still regarded with wise +eyes as the store. Then she sat in the tall chair which must have +been vacated by that mysterious other child, and had her breakfast, +eating her new-laid egg, which the black woman broke for her, while +she leaned delicately away as far as she could with a timid shrug of +her little shoulder, and sipping her chocolate out of the beautiful +pink-and-gold cup. That, however, Ellen decided within herself was +not nearly as pretty as one with “A Gift of Friendship” +on it in gilt letters which her grandmother kept on the whatnot in +her best parlor. This had been given to her aunt Ellen, who died when +she was a young girl, and was to be hers when she grew up. She did +not care as much for the egg and toast either as for the +griddle-cakes and maple syrup at home. All through breakfast Cynthia +talked to her, and in such manner as the child had never heard. That +fine voice, full of sweetest modulations and cadences, which used the +language with the precision of a musician, was as different from the +voices at home with their guttural slurs and maimed terminals as the +song of a spring robin from the scream of the parrot which Ellen +could hear in some distant room. And what Cynthia said was as +different from ordinary conversation to the child as a fairy tale, +being interspersed with terms of endearment which her mother and +grandmother would have considered high-flown, and have been +shamefaced in employing, and full of a whimsical playfulness which +had an undertone of pathos in it. Cynthia was not still for a minute, +and seemed to feel that much of her power lay in her speech and +voice, like some enchantress who cast her spell by means of her +silver tongue. Nobody knew how she dreaded that outcry of Ellen's, +“I want my mother!” It gave her the sensations of a +murderess, even while she persisted in her crime. So she talked, +diverting the child's mind from its natural channel by sheer force of +eloquence. She told a story about the parrot, which caused Ellen's +eyes to widen with thoughtful wonder; she promised her treasures and +pleasures which made her mouth twitch into smiles in spite of +herself; but with all her efforts, when after breakfast they went +into another room, Ellen broke out again, “I want my +mother!”</p> + +<p>Cynthia turned white and struggled with herself for a moment, then +she spoke. That which she was doing of the nature of a crime was in +reality more foreign to her nature than virtue, and her instinct was +to return to her narrow and straight way in spite of its cramping of +love and natural longings. “Who is your mother, darling?” +she asked. “And what is your name?”</p> + +<p>But Ellen was silent, except for that one cry, “I want my +mother!” The persistency of the child, in spite of her youth +and her distress, was almost invulnerable. She came of a stiff-necked +family on one side at least, and sometimes stiff-neckedness is more +pronounced in a child than in an adult, in whom it may be tempered by +experience and policy. “I want my mother! I want my +mother!” Ellen repeated in her gentle wail as plaintively +inconsequent as the note of a bird, and would say no more.</p> + +<p>Then Cynthia displayed the parrot, but a parrot was too fine and +fierce a bird for Ellen. She would have preferred him as a subject +for her imagination, which could not be harmed by his beak and claws, +and she liked Cynthia's story about him better than the gorgeous +actuality of the bird himself. She shrank back from that shrieking +splendor, clinging with strong talons to his cage wires, against +which he pressed cruelly his red breast and beat his gold-green +wings, and through which he thrust his hooked beak, and glared with +his yellow eyes.</p> + +<p>Ellen fairly sobbed at last when the parrot thrust out a wicked +and deceiving claw towards her, and said something in his unearthly +shriek which seemed to have a distinct reference to her, and fired at +her a volley of harsh “How do's” and +“Good-mornings,” and “Good-nights,” and +“Polly want a cracker's,” then finished with a wild +shriek of laughter, her note of human grief making a curious chord +with the bird's of inhuman mirth. “I want my mother!” she +panted out, and wept, and would not be comforted. Then Cynthia took +her away from the parrot and produced the doll. Then truly did the +sentiment of emulative motherhood in her childish breast console her +for the time for her need of her own mother. Such a doll as that she +had never seen, not even in the store-windows at Christmas-time. +Still, she had very fine dolls for a little girl whose relatives were +not wealthy, but this doll was like a princess, and nearly as large +as Ellen.</p> + +<p>Ellen held out her arms for this ravishing creature in a French +gown, looked into its countenance of unflinching infantile grace and +amiability and innocence, and her fickle heart betrayed her, and she +laughed with delight, and the tension of anxiety relaxed in her +face.</p> + +<p>“Where is her mother?” she asked of Cynthia, having a +very firm belief in the little girl-motherhood of dolls. She could +not imagine a doll without her little mother, and even in the cases +of the store-dolls, she wondered how their mothers could let them be +sold, and mothered by other little girls, however poor they might be. +But she never doubted that her own dolls were her very own children +even if they had been bought in a store. So now she asked Cynthia +with an indescribably pitying innocence, “Where is her +mother?”</p> + +<p>Cynthia laughed and looked adoringly at the child with the doll in +her arms. “She has no mother but you,” said she. +“She is yours, but once she belonged to a dear little boy, who +used to live with me.”</p> + +<p>Ellen stared thoughtfully: she had never seen a little boy with a +doll. The lady seemed to read her thought, for she laughed again.</p> + +<p>“This little boy had curls, and he wore dresses like a +little girl, and he was just as pretty as a little girl, and he loved +to play with dolls like a little girl,” said she.</p> + +<p>“Where is he?” asked Ellen, in a small, gentle voice. +“Don't he want her now?”</p> + +<p>“No, darling,” said Cynthia; “he is not here; he +has been gone away two years, and he had left off his baby curls and +his dresses, and stopped playing with her for a year before +that.” Cynthia sighed and drew down her mouth, and Ellen +looked at her lovingly and wonderingly.</p> + +<p>“Be you his mother?” she asked, piteously; then, +before Cynthia could answer, her own lip quivered and she sobbed out +again, even while she hugged her doll-child to her bosom, “I +want my mother! I want my mother!”</p> + +<p>All that day the struggle went on. Cynthia Lennox, leading her +little guest, who always bore the doll, traversed the fine old house +in search of distraction, for the heart of the child was sore for its +mother, and success was always intermittent. The music-box played, +the pictures were explained, and even old trunks of laid-away +treasures ransacked. Cynthia took her through the hot-houses and gave +her all the flowers she liked to pick, to still that longing cry of +hers. Cynthia Lennox had fine hot-houses kept by an old colored man, +the husband of her black cook. Her establishment was very small; her +one other maid she had sent away early that morning to make a visit +with a sick sister in another town. The old colored couple had lived +in her family since she was born, and would have been silent had she +stolen a whole family of children. Ellen caught a glimpse of a bent, +dark figure at one end of the pink-house as they entered; he glanced +up at her with no appearance of surprise, only a broad, welcoming +expansion of his whole face, which caused her to shrink; then he +shuffled out in response to an order of his mistress.</p> + +<p>Ellen stared at the pinks, swarming as airily as butterflies in +motley tints of palest rose to deepest carmine over the blue-green +jungle of their stems; she sniffed the warm, moist, perfumed +atmosphere; she followed Cynthia down the long perspective of bloom, +then she said again that she wanted her mother; and Cynthia led her +into the rose-house, then into one where the grapes hung low overhead +and the air was as sweet and strong as wine, but even there Ellen +wanted her mother.</p> + +<p>But it was not until the next morning when she was eating her +breakfast that the climax came. Then the door-bell rang, and +presently Cynthia was summoned into another room. She kissed Ellen, +and bade her go on with her breakfast and she would return shortly; +but before she had quite left the room a man stood unexpectedly in +the door-way, a man who looked younger than Cynthia. He had a fair +mustache, a high forehead scowling over near-sighted blue eyes, and +stood with a careless slouch of shoulders in a gray coat.</p> + +<p>“Good-morning,” he began. Then he stopped short when +he saw Ellen in her tall chair staring shyly around at him through +her soft golden mist of hair. “What child is that?” he +demanded; but Cynthia with a sharp cry sprang to him, and fairly +pulled him out of the room, and closed the door.</p> + +<p>Then Ellen heard voices rising higher and higher, and Cynthia say, +in a voice of shrill passion: “I cannot, Lyman. I cannot give +her up. You don't know what I have suffered since George married and +took little Robert away. I can't let this child go.”</p> + +<p>Then came the man's voice, hoarse with excitement: “But, +Cynthia, you must; you are mad. Think what this means. Why, if people +know what you have done, kept this child, while all this search has +been going on, and made no effort to find out who she +was—”</p> + +<p>“I did ask her, and she would not tell me,” Cynthia +said, miserably.</p> + +<p>“Good Lord! what of that? That is nothing but a subterfuge. +You must have seen in the papers—”</p> + +<p>“I have not looked at a paper since she came.”</p> + +<p>“Of course you have not. You were afraid to. Why, good God! +Cynthia Lennox, I don't know but you will stand in danger of lynching +if people ever find this out, that you have taken in this child and +kept her in this way—I don't know what people will +do.”</p> + +<p>Ellen waited for no more; she rose softly, she gathered up her +great doll which sat in a little chair near by, she gathered up her +pink-and-gold cup which had been given her, and the pinks which had +been brought from the hot-house the day before, which Cynthia had +arranged in a vase beside her plate, then she stole very softly out +of the side door, and out of the house, and ran down the street as +fast as her little feet could carry her.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter V</h3> + +<p>That morning, after the street in front of Lloyd's factory had +been cleared of the flocking employés with their little +dinner-boxes, and the great broadside of the front windows had been +set with faces of the workers, a distracted figure came past. A young +fellow at a window of the cutting-room noticed her first. “Look +at that, Jim Tenny,” said he, with a shove of an elbow towards +his next neighbor.</p> + +<p>“Get out, will ye?” growled Jim Tenny, but he +looked.</p> + +<p>Then three girls from the stitching-room came crowding up behind +with furtively tender pressings of round arms against the shoulders +of the young men. “We come in here to see if that was Eva +Loud,” said one, a sharp-faced, alert girl, not pretty, but a +favorite among the male employés, to the constant wonder of +the other girls.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it's her fast enough,” rejoined another, a +sweet-faced blonde with an exaggeratedly fashionable coiffure and a +noticeable smartness in the tie of her neck-ribbon and the set of her +cotton waist. “Just look at the poor thing's hair. Only see how +frowsly it is, and she has come out without her hat.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don't wonder,” said the third girl, who was +elderly and whose complexion was tanned and weather-beaten almost to +the color of the leather upon which she worked. Yet through this +seamed and discolored face, with thin grayish hair drawn back tightly +from the temples, one could discern, as through a transparent mask, a +past prettiness and an exceeding gentleness and faithfulness. +“If my sister's little Helen was to be lost I shouldn't know +whether my hat was on or not,” said she. “I believe I +should go raving mad.”</p> + +<p>“You wouldn't have to slave as you have done supportin' it +ever since your sister's husband died,” said the pretty girl. +“Only look how Eva's waist bags in the back and she 'ain't got +any belt on. I wouldn't come out lookin' so.”</p> + +<p>“I should die if I didn't have something to work for. That's +the difference between being a worker and a slave,” said the +other girl, simply. “Poor Eva!”</p> + +<p>“Well, it was a pretty young one,” said the first +girl.</p> + +<p>“Looks to me as if Eva Loud's skirt was comin' off,” +said the pretty girl. She pressed close to Jim Tenny with a familiar +air of proprietorship as she spoke, but the young man did not seem to +heed her. He was looking over his bench at the figure on the street +below, and his heavy black eyebrows were scowling, and his mouth +set.</p> + +<p>Jim Tenny was handsome after a swarthy and grimy fashion, for the +tint of the leather seemed to have become absorbed into his skin. His +black mustache bristled roughly, but his face was freer than usual +from his black beard-stubble, because the day before had been Sunday +and he had shaved. His black right hand with its squat discolored +nails grasped his cutting-knife with a hard clutch, his left held the +piece of leather firmly in place, while he stared out with that angry +and anxious scowl at Eva, who had paused on the street below, and was +staring up at the windows, as if she meditated a wild search in the +factory for the lost child. There was a curious likeness between the +two faces; people had been accustomed to say that Eva Loud and her +gentleman looked more like brother and sister than a courting couple, +and there was, moreover, a curious spirit of comradeship between the +two. It asserted itself now with the young man, in opposition to the +more purely sexual attraction of the pretty girl who was leaning +against him, and for whom he had deserted Eva.</p> + +<p>After all, friendship and good comradeship are a steadier force +than love, if not as overwhelming, and it may be that tortoise of the +emotions which outruns the hare.</p> + +<p>“Well, for my part, I think a good deal more of Eva Loud +than if she had come out all frizzed and ruffled—shows her +heart is in the right place,” said the man who had spoken +first. He spoke with a guttural drawl, and kept on with his work, but +there was a meaning in his words for the pretty girl, who had +coquetted with him before taking up with Jim Tenny.</p> + +<p>“That is so,” said another man at Jim Tenny's right. +“She is right to come out as she has done when she is so +anxious for the child.” This man was a fair-haired Swede, and +he spoke English with a curious and careful precision, very different +from the hurried, slurring intonations of the other men. He had been +taught the language by a philanthropic young lady, a college +graduate, in whose father's family he had lived when he first came to +America, and in consequence he spoke like a gentleman and had some +considerable difficulty in understanding his companions.</p> + +<p>“Eva Loud has had a damned hard time, take it all +together,” spoke out another man, looking over is bench at the +girl on the street. He was small and thin and wiry, a mass of +brown-coated muscles under his loose-hanging gingham shirt. He plied +feverishly his cutting-knife with his lean, hairy hands as he spoke. +He was accounted one of the best and swiftest cutters in Lloyd's, and +he worked unceasingly, for he had an invalid wife and four children +to support. Now and then he had to stop to cough, then he worked +faster.</p> + +<p>“That's so,” said the first man.</p> + +<p>“Yes, that is so,” said the Swede, with a nod of his +fair head.</p> + +<p>“And now to lose this young one that she set her life +by,” said the first girl, with an evident point of malice in +her tone, and a covert look at the pretty girl at Jim Tenny's side. +Jim Tenny paled under his grime; the hand which held the knife +clinched.</p> + +<p>“What do you s'pose has become of the young one?” said +the first girl. “There's a good many out from the shop huntin' +this mornin', ain't there?”</p> + +<p>“Fifty,” said the first man, laconically.</p> + +<p>“You three were out all day yesterday, wa'n't +you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Jim and Carl and me were out till after +midnight.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I wonder whether the poor little young one is alive? +Don't seem as if she could be—but—”</p> + +<p>“Look there! look there!” screamed the elderly girl +suddenly. “Look at <em>there!</em>” She began to dance, +she laughed, she sobbed, she waved her lean hands frantically out of +the window, leaning far over the bench. “Look at there!” +she kept crying. Then she turned and ran out of the room, with the +other girls and half the cutting-room after her.</p> + +<p>“Damn it, she's got the child!” said the thin man. He +kept on working, his dark, sinewy hands flying over the sheets of +leather, but the tears ran down his cheeks. Lloyd's emptied itself +into the street, and surrounded Eva Loud and Ellen, who, running +aimlessly, had come straight to her aunt. Jim Tenny was first.</p> + +<p>Eva stood clasping the child, who was too frightened to cry, and +was breathing in hushed gasps, her face hidden on her aunt's broad +bosom. Eva had caught her up at the first sight of her, and now she +stood clasping her fiercely, and looking at them all as if she +thought they wanted to rob her of the child. Even when a great cheer +went up from the crowd, and was echoed by another from the factory, +with an accompaniment of waving bare, leather-stained arms and hands, +that expression of desperate defiance instead of the joy of recovery +did not leave her face, not until she saw Jim Tenny's face working +with repressed emotion and met his eyes full of the memory of old +comradeship. Then her bold heart and her pride all melted and she +burst out in a great wail before them all.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Jim!” she cried out. “Oh, Jim, I lost you, +and then I thought I'd lost her! Oh, Jim!”</p> + +<p>Then there was a chorus of feminine sobs, for Eva's wild weeping +had precipitated the ready sympathy of half the girls present. The +men started a cheer to cover a certain chivalrous shamefacedness +which was upon them at the sight of the girl's grief, and another +cheer from the factory echoed it. Then came another sound, the great +steam-whistle of Lloyd's; then the whistles of the other neighboring +factories responded, and people began to swarm out of them, and the +windows to fill with eager faces. Jim Tenny grasped Eva's arm with a +grasp like a vise. “Come this way,” said he, sharply. +“Come this way, Eva.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Jim! oh, Jim!” Eva sobbed again; but she followed +him, little Ellen's golden fleece tossing over her shoulder.</p> + +<p>“She's got her; she's got her!” shouted the +people.</p> + +<div align="center"> +<a href="images/plimage3.jpg"> +<img src="images/plimage3.jpg" width="445" height="642" +alt="'She's got her!' Shouted the people"></a> +</div> + +<p>Then the leather-stained hands gyrated, the cheers went up, and +again the whistles blew.</p> + +<p>Jim Tenny, with his hand on Eva's arm, pushed his way through the +crowd.</p> + +<p>“Where you goin', Jim?” asked the pretty girl at his +elbow, but he pushed past her roughly, and did not seem to hear. +Eva's face was all inflamed and convulsed with sobs, but she did not +dream of covering it—she was full of the holy shamelessness of +grief and joy. “Let me see her! let me see her! Oh, the dear +little thing, only look at her! Where have you been, precious? Are +you hungry? Oh, Nellie, she is hungry, I know! She looks thin. Run +over to the bakery and buy her some cookies, quick! Are you cold? +Give her this sacque. Only look at her! Kate, only look at her! Are +you hurt, darling? Has anybody hurt you? If anybody has, he shall be +hung! Oh, you darling! Only see her, 'Liza.”</p> + +<p>But Jim Tenny, his mouth set, his black brows scowling, his hard +grasp on Eva's arm, pushed straight through the gathering crowd until +they came to Clarkson's stables at the rear of Lloyd's, where he kept +his horse and buggy—for he lived at a distance from his work, +and drove over every morning. He pointed to a chair which a hostler +had occupied, tilted against the wall, for a morning smoke, after the +horses were fed and watered, and which he had vacated to join the +jubilant crowd. “Sit down there,” he said to Eva. Then he +hailed a staring man coming out of the office. “Here, help me +in with my horse, quick!” said he.</p> + +<p>The man stared still, with slowly rising indignation. He was +portly and middle-aged, the senior partner of the firm, who seldom +touched his own horses of late years, and had a son at Harvard. +“What's to pay? What do you mean? Anybody sick?” he +asked.</p> + +<p>“Help me into the buggy with my horse!” shouted Jim +Tenny. “I tell you the child is found, and I've got to take it +home to its folks.”</p> + +<p>“Don't they know yet? Is that it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I tell you.” Jim was backing out his horse as +he spoke.</p> + +<p>Mr. Clarkson seized a harness and threw the collar over the +horse's head, while Jim ran out the buggy. When Mr. Clarkson lifted +Eva and Ellen into the buggy he gave the child's head a pat. +“God bless it!” he said, and his voice broke.</p> + +<p>The horse was restive. Jim took a leap into the buggy at Eva's +side, and they were out with a dash and a swift rattle. The crowd +parted before them, and cheer after cheer went up. The whistles +sounded again. Then all the city bells rang out. They were signalling +the other searchers that the child was found. Jim and Eva and Ellen +made a progress of triumph down the street. The crowd pursued them +with cheers of rejoicing; doors and windows flew open; the +house-yards were full of people. Jim drove as fast as he could, +scowling hard to hide his tenderness and pity. Eva sat by his side, +weeping in her terrible candor of grief and joy, and Ellen's golden +locks tossed on her shoulder.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter VI</h3> + +<p>As Jim Tenny, with Eva Loud and the child, drove down the road +towards the Brewster house, his horse and buggy became the nucleus of +a gathering procession, shouting and exclaiming, with voices all +tuned to one key of passionate sympathy. There were even many women +of the poorer class who had no sense of indecency in following the +utmost lead of their tender emotions. Some of them bore children of +their own in their arms, and were telling them with passionate +croonings to look at the other little girl in the carriage who had +been lost, and gone away a whole day and two nights from her mother. +They often called out fondly to Ellen and Eva, and ordered Jim to +wait a moment that they might look at the poor darling. But Jim drove +on as fast as he was able, though he had sometimes to rein his horse +sharply to avoid riding down some lean racing boys, who would now and +then shoot ahead of him with loud whoops of triumph. Once as he drove +he laid one hand caressingly over Eva's. “Poor girl!” he +said, hoarsely and shamefacedly, and Eva sobbed loudly. When Jim +reached Mrs. Zelotes Brewster's house there was a swift displacement +of lights and shadows in a window, a door flew open, and the gaunt +old woman was at the wheel.</p> + +<p>“Stop!” she cried. “Stop! Bring her in here to +me! Let me have her! Give her to me; I have got everything ready! +Come, Ellen—come to grandmother!”</p> + +<p>Then there was a mad rush from the opposite direction, and the +child's mother was there, reaching into the buggy with fierce arms of +love and longing. “Give her to me!” she shrieked out. +“Give me my baby, Eva Loud! Oh, Ellen, where have you +been?”</p> + +<p>Fanny Brewster dragged her child from her sister's arms so +forcibly that she seemed fairly to fly over the wheel. Then she +strained her to her hungry bosom, covering her with kisses, wetting +her soft face and yellow hair with tears.</p> + +<p>“My baby, mother's darling, mother's baby!” she gasped +out with great pants of satisfied love; but another pair of lean, +wiry old arms stole around the child's slender body.</p> + +<p>“Give her to me!” demanded Mrs. Zelotes Brewster. +“She is my son's child, and I have a right to her! You will +kill her, goin' on so over her. Give her to me! I have everything all +ready in my house to take care of her. Give her to me, Fanny +Loud!”</p> + +<p>“Keep your hands off her!” cried Fanny. “She's +my own baby, and nobody's goin' to take her away from me, I +guess.”</p> + +<p>“Give her to me this minute!” said Mrs. Zelotes +Brewster. “You'll kill her, goin' on so. You're frightenin' her +to death. Give her to me this minute!”</p> + +<p>Ellen, meanwhile, that little tender blossom tossed helplessly by +contending waves of love, was weeping and trembling with joy at the +feel of her mother's arms and with awe and terror at this tempest of +passion which she had evoked.</p> + +<p>“Give her to me!” demanded Mrs. Zelotes Brewster.</p> + +<p>The crowd who had followed stood gaping with working faces. The +mothers wept over their own children. Eva stood at her sister's +elbow, with a hand on one of the child's, which was laid over Fanny's +shoulder. Jim Tenny had his face hidden on his horse's neck.</p> + +<p>“Give her to me!” said Mrs. Zelotes again. “Give +her to me, I say! I am her own grandmother!”</p> + +<p>“And I am her own mother!” called out Fanny, with a +great master-note of love and triumph and defiance. “I'm her +own mother, and I've got her, and nobody but God shall take her from +me again.” The tears streamed down her cheeks; she kissed the +child with pale, parted lips. She was at once pathetic and terrible. +She was human love and selfishness incarnate.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Zelotes Brewster stared at her, and her face changed suddenly +and softened. She turned and went back into her own house. Her gray +head appeared a second beside her window, then sank out of sight. She +was kneeling there with her Bible at her side, a sudden sweet +humility of thankfulness rising from her whole spirit like a perfume, +when Fanny, with Eva following, still clinging to the child's little +hand over her sister's shoulder, went across the yard to her own +house to tell her husband. The others followed, and stood about +outside, listening with curiosity sanctified by intensest sympathy. +One nervous-faced boy leaped on the slant of the bulkhead to peer in +a window of the sitting-room, and when his mother pulled him back +forcibly, rubbed his grimy little knuckles across his eyes, and a +dark smooch appeared on his nose and cheeks. He was a young boy, very +small and thin for his age. He whispered to his mother and she +nodded, and he darted off in the direction of his own home.</p> + +<p>Andrew Brewster had just come home after an all-night's search, +and he was in his bedroom in the bitter sleep of utter exhaustion and +despair. Suddenly his heart had failed him and his brain had reeled. +He had begun to feel dazed, to forget for a minute what he was +looking for. He had made incoherent replies to the men with him, and +finally one, after a whispered consultation with the others, had +said: “Look at here, Andrew, old fellow; you'd better go home +and rest a bit. We'll look all the harder while you're gone, and +maybe she'll be found when you wake up.”</p> + +<p>“Who will be found?” Andrew asked, with a dazed look. +He reeled as if he were drunk.</p> + +<p>“Ain't had anything, has he?” one of the men +whispered.</p> + +<p>“Not a drop to my knowledge.”</p> + +<p>Andrew's lips trembled perceptibly; his forehead was knitted with +vacuous perplexity; his eyes reflected blanks of unreason; his whole +body had an effect of weak settling and subsidence. The man who +worked next to him in the cutting-room at Lloyd's, and had searched +at his side indefatigably from the first, stole a tender hand under +his shoulder. “Come along with me, old man,” he said, and +Andrew obeyed.</p> + +<p>When Fanny and Eva came in with the child, he lay prostrate on the +bed, and scarcely seemed to breathe. A great qualm of fear shot over +Fanny for a second. His father had died of heart-disease.</p> + +<p>“Is he—dead?” she gasped to Eva.</p> + +<p>“No, of course he ain't,” said Eva. “He's +asleep; he's wore out. Andrew, Andrew, Andrew, wake up! She's found, +Andrew; Ellen's found.” But Andrew did not stir.</p> + +<p>“He is!” gasped Fanny, again.</p> + +<p>“No, he ain't. Andrew, Andrew Brewster, wake up, wake up! +Ellen's here! She's found!”</p> + +<p>Fanny put Ellen down, and bent over Andrew and listened. +“No, I can hear him breathe,” she cried. Then she kissed +him, and leaned her mouth close to his ear. “Andrew!” she +said, in a voice which Eva and Ellen had never heard before. +“Andrew, poor old man, wake up; she's found! Our child is +found!”</p> + +<p>When Andrew still did not wake, but only stirred, and moaned +faintly, Fanny lifted Ellen onto the bed. “Kiss poor father, +and wake him,” she told her.</p> + +<p>Ellen, whose blue eyes were big with fright and wonder, whose lips +were quivering, and whose little body was vibrating with the strain +of her nerves, laid her soft cheek against her father's rough, pale +one, and stole a little arm under his neck. “Father, wake +up!” she called out in her little, trembling, sweet voice, and +that reached Andrew Brewster in the depths of his own physical +inertness. He opened his eyes and looked at the child, and the light +came into them, and then the sound of his sobbing filled the house +and reached the people out in the yard, and an echo arose from them. +Gradually the crowd dispersed. Jim Tenny, before he drove away, went +to the door and spoke to Eva.</p> + +<p>“Anything I can do?” he asked, with a curious, tender +roughness. He did not look at her as he spoke.</p> + +<p>“No; thank you, Jim,” replied Eva.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the young man reached out a hand and stroked her rough +hair. “Well, take care of yourself, old girl,” he +said.</p> + +<p>Eva went to her sister as Jim went out of the yard. Ellen was in +the sitting-room with her father, and Fanny had gone to the kitchen +to heat some milk for the child, whom she firmly believed to have had +nothing to eat during her absence.</p> + +<p>“Fanny,” said Eva.</p> + +<p>“Well?” said Fanny. “I can't stop; I must get +some milk for her; she must be 'most starved.”</p> + +<p>Fanny turned and looked at Eva, who cast down her eyes before her +in a very shamefacedness of happiness and contrition.</p> + +<p>“Why, what is it?” repeated Fanny, staring at her.</p> + +<p>“I've got Jim back, I guess, as well as Ellen,” said +Eva, “and I'm going to be a good woman.”</p> + +<p>After all the crowd of people outside had gone, the little nervous +boy raced into the Brewster yard with a tin cup of chestnuts in his +hand. He knocked at the side door, and when Fanny opened it he thrust +them upon her. “They're for her!” he blurted out, and was +gone, racing like a deer.</p> + +<p>“Don't you want the cup back?” Fanny shouted after +him.</p> + +<p>“No, ma'am,” he called back, and that, although his +mother had charged him to bring back the cup or he would get a +scolding.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter VII</h3> + +<p>Ellen had clung fast all the time to her doll, her bunch of pinks, +and her cup and saucer; or, rather, she had guarded them jealously. +“Where did you get all these things?” her aunt Eva had +asked her, amazedly, when she first caught sight of her, and then had +not waited for an answer in her wild excitement of joy at the +recovery of the child. The great, smiling wax doll had ridden between +Jim and Eva in the buggy, Eva had held the pink cup and saucer with a +kind of mechanical carefulness, and Ellen herself clutched the pinks +in one little hand, though she crushed them against her aunt's bosom +as she sat in her lap. Ellen's grandmother and aunt had glanced at +these treasures with momentary astonishment, and so had her mother, +but curiosity was in abeyance for both of them for the time; rapture +at the sight of the beloved child at whose loss they had suffered +such agonies was the one emotion of their souls. But later +investigation was to follow.</p> + +<p>When Ellen did not seem to care for her hot milk liberally +sweetened in her own mug, and griddle-cakes with plenty of syrup, her +mother looked at her, and her eyes of love sharpened with inquiry. +“Ain't you hungry?” she said. Ellen shook her head. She +was sitting at the table in the dining-room, and her father, mother, +and aunt were all hovering about her, watching her. Some of the +neighbor women were also in the room, staring with a sort of +deprecating tenderness of curiosity.</p> + +<p>“Do you feel sick?” Ellen's father inquired, +anxiously.</p> + +<p>“You don't feel sick, do you?” repeated her +mother.</p> + +<p>Ellen shook her head.</p> + +<p>Just then Mrs. Zelotes Brewster came in with her +black-and-white-checked shawl pinned around her gaunt old face, which +had in it a strange softness and sweetness, which made Fanny look at +her again, after the first glance, and not know why.</p> + +<p>“We've got our blessing back again, mother,” said her +son Andrew, in a broken voice.</p> + +<p>“But she won't eat her breakfast, now mother has gone and +cooked it for her, so nice, too,” said Fanny, in a tone of +confidence which she had never before used towards Mrs. Zelotes.</p> + +<p>“You don't feel sick, do you, Ellen?” asked her +grandmother.</p> + +<p>Ellen shook her head. “No, ma'am,” said she.</p> + +<p>“She says she don't feel sick, and she ain't hungry,” +Andrew said, anxiously.</p> + +<p>“I wonder if she would eat one of my new doughnuts. I've got +some real nice ones,” said a neighbor—the stout woman +from the next house, whose breadth of body seemed to symbolize a +corresponding spiritual breadth of motherliness, as she stood there +looking at the child who had been lost and was found.</p> + +<p>“Don't you want one of Aunty Wetherhed's nice +doughnuts?” asked Fanny.</p> + +<p>“No; I thank you,” replied Ellen. Eva started suddenly +with an air of mysterious purpose, opened a door, ran down cellar, +and returned with a tumbler of jelly, but Ellen shook her head even +at that.</p> + +<p>“Have you had your breakfast?” said Fanny.</p> + +<p>Then Ellen was utterly quiet. She did not speak; she made no sign +or motion. She sat still, looking straight before her.</p> + +<p>“Don't you hear, Ellen?” said Andrew. “Have you +had your breakfast this morning?”</p> + +<p>“Tell Auntie Eva if you have had your breakfast,” Eva +said.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Zelotes Brewster spoke with more authority, and she went +further.</p> + +<p>“Tell grandmother if you have had your breakfast, and where +you had it,” said she.</p> + +<p>But Ellen was dumb and motionless. They all looked at one another. +“Tell Aunty Wetherhed: that's a good girl,” said the +stout woman.</p> + +<p>“Where are those things she had when I first saw her?” +asked Mrs. Zelotes, suddenly. Eva went into the sitting-room, and +fetched them out—the bunch of pinks, the cup and saucer, and +the doll. Ellen's eyes gave a quick look of love and delight at the +doll.</p> + +<p>“She had these, luggin' along in her little arms, when I +first caught sight of her comin',” said Eva.</p> + +<p>“Where did you get them, Ellen?” asked Fanny. +“Who gave them to you?”</p> + +<p>Ellen was silent, with all their inquiring eyes fixed upon her +face like a compelling battery. “Where have you been, Ellen, +all the time you have been gone?” asked Mrs. Zelotes. +“Now you have got back safe, you must tell us where you have +been.”</p> + +<p>Andrew stooped his head down to the child's, and rubbed his rough +cheek against her soft one, with his old facetious caress. +“Tell father where you've been,” he whispered. Ellen gave +him a little piteous glance, and her lip quivered, but she did not +speak.</p> + +<p>“Where do you s'pose she got them?” whispered one +neighbor to another.</p> + +<p>“I can't imagine; that's a beautiful doll.”</p> + +<p>“Ain't it? It must have cost a lot. I know, because my +Hattie had one her aunt gave her last Christmas; that one cost a +dollar and ninety-eight cents, and it didn't begin to compare with +this. That's a handsome cup and saucer, too.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but you can get real handsome cups and saucers to +Crosby's for twenty-five cents. I don't think so much of +that.”</p> + +<p>“Them pinks must have come from a greenhouse.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, they must.”</p> + +<p>“Well, there's lots of greenhouses in the city besides the +florists. That don't help much.” Then the first woman inclined +her lips closely to the other woman's ear and whispered, causing the +other to start back. “No, I can't believe she would,” +said she.</p> + +<p>“She came from those Louds on her mother's side,” +whispered the first woman, guardedly, with dark emphasis.</p> + +<p>“Ellen,” said Fanny, suddenly, and almost sharply, +“you didn't take those things in any way you hadn't ought to, +did you? Tell mother.”</p> + +<p>“Fanny!” cried Andrew.</p> + +<p>“If she did, it's the first time a Brewster ever +stole,” said Mrs. Zelotes. Her face was no longer strange with +unwonted sweetness as she looked at Fanny.</p> + +<p>Andrew put his face down to Ellen's again. “Father knows she +didn't steal the things; never mind,” he whispered.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the stout woman made a soft, ponderous rush out of the +room and the house. She passed the window with oscillating +swiftness.</p> + +<p>“Where's Miss Wetherhed gone?” said one woman to +another.</p> + +<p>“She's thought of somethin'.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe she left her bread in the oven.”</p> + +<p>“No, she's thought of somethin'.”</p> + +<p>A very old lady, who had been sitting in a rocking-chair on the +other side of the room, rose trembling and came to Ellen and leaned +over her, looking at her with small, black, bright eyes through +gold-rimmed spectacles. The old woman was deaf, and her voice was +shrill and high-pitched to reach her own consciousness. “What +did such a good little girl as you be run away from father and mother +for?” she piped, going back to first principles and the root of +the whole matter, since she had heard nothing of the discussion which +had been going on about her, and had supposed it to deal with +them.</p> + +<p>Ellen gasped. Suddenly all her first woe returned upon her +recollection. She turned innocent, accusing eyes upon her father's +loving face, then her mother's and aunt's. “You said—you +said—you—” she stammered out, but then her father +and mother were both down upon their knees before her in her chair +embracing her, and Eva, too, seized her little hands. “You +mustn't ever think of what you heard father and mother say, +Ellen,” Andrew said, solemnly. “You must forget all about +it. Father and mother were both very wrong and +wicked—”</p> + +<p>“And Aunt Eva, too,” sobbed Eva.</p> + +<p>“And they didn't mean what they said,” continued +Andrew. “You are the greatest blessing in this whole world to +father and mother; you're all they have got. You don't know what +father and mother have been through, thinking you were lost and they +might never see their little girl again. Now you mustn't ever think +of what they said again.”</p> + +<p>“And you won't ever hear them say it again, Ellen,” +Fanny Brewster said, with a noble humbling of herself before her +child.</p> + +<p>“No, you won't,” said Eva.</p> + +<p>“Mother is goin' to try to do better, and have more +patience, and not let you hear such talk any more,” said Fanny, +kissing Ellen passionately, and rising with Andrew's arm around +her.</p> + +<p>“I'm going to try, too, Ellen,” said Eva.</p> + +<p>The stout woman came padding softly and heavily into the room, and +there was a bright-blue silken gleam in her hand. She waved a whole +yard of silk of the most brilliant blue before Ellen's dazzled eyes. +“There!” said she, triumphantly, “if you will tell +Aunty Wetherhed where you've been, and all about it, she'll give you +all this beautiful silk to make a new dress for your new +dolly.”</p> + +<p>Ellen looked in the woman's face, she looked at the blue silk, and +she looked at the doll, but she was silent.</p> + +<p>“Only think what a beautiful dress it will make!” said +a woman.</p> + +<p>“And see how pretty it goes with the dolly's light +hair,” said Fanny.</p> + +<p>“Ellen,” whispered Andrew, “you tell father, and +he'll buy you a whole pound of candy down to the store.”</p> + +<p>“I shouldn't wonder if I could find something to make your +dolly a cloak,” said a woman.</p> + +<p>“And I'll make her a beautiful little bonnet, if you'll +tell,” said another.</p> + +<p>“Only think, a whole pound of candy!” said Andrew.</p> + +<p>“I'll buy you a gold ring,” Eva cried +out—“a gold ring with a little blue stone in +it.”</p> + +<p>“And you shall go to ride with mother on the cars +to-morrow,” said Fanny.</p> + +<p>“Father will get you some oranges, too,” said +Andrew.</p> + +<p>But Ellen sat silent and unmoved by all that sweet bribery, a +little martyr to something within herself; a sense of honor, love for +the lady who had concealed her, and upon whom her confession might +bring some dire penalty; or perhaps she was strengthened in her +silence by something less worthy—possibly that stiff-neckedness +which had descended to her from a long line of Puritans upon her +father's side. At all events she was silent, and opposed successfully +her one little new will to the onslaught of all those older and more +experienced ones before her, though nobody knew at what cost of agony +to herself. She had always been a singularly docile and obedient +child; this was the first persistent disobedience of her whole life, +and it reacted upon herself with a cruel spiritual hurt. She sat +clasping the great doll, the pinks, and the pink cup and saucer +before her on the table—a lone little weak child, opposing her +single individuality against so many, and to her own hurt and horror +and self-condemnation, and she did not weaken; but all at once her +head drooped on one side, and her father caught her.</p> + +<p>“There! you can all stop tormentin' this blessed +child!” he cried. “Ellen, Ellen, look at Father! Oh, +mother, look here; she's fainted dead away!”</p> + +<p>“Fanny!”</p> + +<p>When Ellen came to herself she was on the bed in her mother's +room, and her aunt Eva was putting some of her beautiful cologne on +her head, and her mother was trying to make her drink water, and her +grandmother had a glass of her currant wine, and they were calling to +her with voices of far-off love, as if from another world.</p> + +<p>And after that she was questioned no more about her mysterious +journey.</p> + +<p>“Wherever she has been, she has got no harm,” said +Mrs. Zelotes Brewster, “and there's no use in trying to drive a +child, when it comes of our family. She's got some notion in her +head, and you've got to leave her alone to get over it. She's got +back safe and sound, and that's the main thing.”</p> + +<p>“I wish I knew where she got those things,” Fanny +said. Looseness of principle as to property rights was not as strange +to her imagination as to that of her mother-in-law.</p> + +<p>For a long time afterwards she passed consciously and uneasily by +cups and saucers in stores, and would not look their way lest she +should see the counterpart of Ellen's, which was Sèvres, and +worth more than the whole counterful, had she only known it, and she +hurried past the florists who displayed pinks in their windows. The +doll was evidently not new, and she had not the same anxiety with +regard to that.</p> + +<p>No one was allowed to ask Ellen further questions that day, not +even the reporters, who went away quite baffled by this infantile +pertinacity in silence, and were forced to draw upon their +imaginations, with results varying from realistic horrors to Alice in +Wonderland. Ellen was kissed and cuddled by some women and young +girls, but not many were allowed to see her. The doctor had been +called in after her fainting-fit, and pronounced it as his opinion +that she was a very nervous child, and had been under a severe +strain, and he would not answer for the result if she were to be +further excited.</p> + +<p>“Let her have her own way: if she wants to talk, let her, +and if she wants to be silent, let her alone. She is as delicate as +that cup,” said the doctor, looking at the shell-like thing +which Ellen had brought home, with some curiosity.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter VIII</h3> + +<p>That evening Lyman Risley came to see Cynthia. He looked at her +anxiously and scrutinizingly when he entered the room, and did not +respond to her salutation.</p> + +<p>“Well, I have seen the child,” he said, in a hushed +voice, with a look towards the door as he seated himself before the +fire and spread out his hands towards the blaze. He looked nervous +and chilly.</p> + +<p>“How did she look?” asked Cynthia.</p> + +<p>“Why in the name of common-sense, Cynthia,” he said, +abruptly, without noticing her query, “if you had to give that +child china for a souvenir, didn't you give her something besides +Royal Sèvres?” Lyman Risley undoubtedly looked younger +than Cynthia, but his manner even more than his looks gave him the +appearance of comparative youth. There was in it a vehemence and +impetuosity almost like that of a boy. Cynthia, with her strained +nervous intensity, seemed very much older.</p> + +<p>“Why not?” said she.</p> + +<p>“Why not? Well, it is fortunate for you that those people +have a knowledge for the most part of the fundamental properties of +the drama of life, such as bread-and-butter, and a table from which +to eat it, and a knife with which to cut it, and a bed in which to +sleep, and a stove and coal, and so on, and so on, and that the +artistic accessories, such as Royal Sèvres, which is no better +than common crockery for the honest purpose of holding the tea for +the solace of the thirsty mouth of labor, is beneath their +attention.”</p> + +<p>“How does the child look, Lyman?” asked Cynthia +Lennox. She was leaning back in a great crimson-covered chair before +the fire, a long, slender, graceful shape, in a clinging white silk +gown which was a favorite of hers for house wear. The light in the +room was subdued, coming mostly through crimson shades, and the +faint, worn lines on Cynthia's face did not show; it looked, with her +soft crown of gray hair, like a cameo against the crimson background +of the chair. The man beside her looked at her with that impatience +of his masculine estate and his superior youth, and yet with the +adoration which nothing could conquer. He had passed two-thirds of +his life, metaphorically, at this woman's feet, and had formed a +habit of admiration and lovership which no facts nor developments +could ever alter. He was frowning, he replied with a certain +sharpness, and yet he leaned towards her as he spoke, and his eyes +followed her long, graceful lines and noted the clear delicacy of her +features against the crimson background. “How the child +looked—how the child looked; Cynthia, you do not realize what +you did. You have not the faintest realization of what it means for a +woman to keep a lost child hidden away as you did, when its parents +and half the city were hunting for it. I tell you I did not know what +the consequences might be to you if it were found out. There is wild +blood in a city like this, and even the staid old New England stream +is capable of erratic currents. I tell you I have had a day of +dreadful anxiety, and it was worse because I had to be guarded. I +dared scarcely speak to any one about the matter. I have listened on +street corners; I have made errands to newspaper offices. I meant to +get you away if— Well, never mind—I tell you, you do not +realize what you did, Cynthia.”</p> + +<p>Cynthia glanced at him without moving her head, then she looked +away, her face quivering slightly, more as if from a reflection of +his agitation than from her own. “You say you saw her,” +she said.</p> + +<p>“This afternoon,” the man went on, “I got fairly +desperate. I resolved to go to the fountain-head for information, and +take my chances. So down I went to Maple Street, where the Brewsters +live, and I rang the front-door bell, and the child's aunt, a +handsome, breathless kind of creature, came and ushered me into the +best parlor, and went into the next room—the +sitting-room—to call the others. I caught sight of enough women +for a woman's club in the sitting-room. Then Andrew Brewster came in, +and I offered my legal services out of friendly interest in the case, +and in that way I found out what I wanted to. Cynthia, that child has +not told.”</p> + +<p>Cynthia raised herself and sat straight, and her face flashed like +a white flame. “Were they harsh to her?” she demanded. +“Were they cruel? Did they question her, and were they harsh +and cruel because she would not tell? Why did you not tell them +yourself? Why did you not, Lyman Risley? Why did you not tell the +whole story rather than have that child blamed? Well, I will go +myself. I will go this minute. They shall not blame that darling. +What do you think I care for myself? Let them lynch me if they want +to. I will go this minute!” Cynthia sprang to her feet, but +Risley, with a hoarse shout under his breath, caught hold of her and +forced her back.</p> + +<p>“For God's sake, sit down, Cynthia!” he said. +“Didn't you hear the door-bell? Somebody is coming.”</p> + +<p>The door-bell had in fact rung, and Cynthia had not noticed it. +She lay back in her chair as the door opened, and Mrs. Norman Lloyd +entered. “Good-evening, Cynthia,” she said, beamingly. +“I thought I would stop a few minutes on my way to meeting. I'm +rather early. No, don't get up,” as Cynthia rose. “Don't +get up; I can only stay a minute. Never mind about giving me a chair, +Mr. Risley—thank you. Yes, this is a real comfortable +chair.” Mrs. Lloyd, seated where the firelight played over her +wide sweep of rich skirts, and her velvet fur-trimmed cloak and +plumed bonnet, beamed upon them with an expansive benevolence and +kindliness. She was a large, handsome, florid woman. Her +grayish-brown hair was carefully crimped, and looped back from her +fat, pink cheeks, a fine shell-and-gold comb surmounted her smooth +French twist, and held her bonnet in place. She unfastened her cloak, +and a diamond brooch at her throat caught the light and blazed red +like a ruby. She was the wife of Norman Lloyd, the largest +shoe-manufacturer in the place. There was between her and Cynthia a +sort of relationship by marriage. Norman Lloyd's brother George had +married Cynthia's sister, who had died ten years before, and of whose +little son, Robert, Cynthia had had the charge. Now George, who was a +lawyer in St. Louis, had married again. Mrs. Norman had sympathized +openly with Cynthia when the child was taken from Cynthia at his +father's second marriage. “I call it a shame,” she had +said, “giving that child to a perfect stranger to bring up, and +I don't see any need of George's marrying again, anyway. I don't know +what I should do if I thought Norman would marry again if I died. I +think one husband and one wife is enough for any man or woman if they +believe in the resurrection. It has always seemed to me that the +answer to that awful question in the New Testament, as to whose wife +that woman who had so many husbands would be in the other world, +meant that people who had done so much marrying on earth would have +to be old maids and old bachelors in heaven. George ought to be +ashamed of himself, and Cynthia ought to keep that child.”</p> + +<p>Ever since she had been very solicitously friendly towards +Cynthia, who had always imperceptibly held herself aloof from her, +owing to a difference in degree. Cynthia had no prejudices of mind, +but many of nerves, and this woman was distinctly not of her sort, +though she had a certain liking for her. Every time she was brought +in contact with her she had a painful sense of a grating adjustment +as of points of meeting which did not dovetail as they should. Norman +Lloyd represented one of the old families of the city, distinguished +by large possessions and college training, and he was the first of +his race to engage in trade. His wife came from a vastly different +stock, being the daughter of a shoe-manufacturer herself, and the +granddaughter of a cobbler who had tapped his neighbor's shoes in his +little shop in the L of his humble cottage house. Mrs. Norman Lloyd +was innocently unconscious of any reason for concealing the fact, and +was fond, when driving out to take the air in her fine carriage, of +pointing out to any stranger who happened to be with her the house +where her grandfather cobbled shoes and laid the foundation of the +family fortune. “That all came from that little shop of my +grandfather,” she would say, pointing proudly at Lloyd's great +factory, which was not far from the old cottage. “Mr. Lloyd +didn't have much of anything when I married him, but I had +considerable, and Mr. Lloyd went into the factory, and he has been +blessed, and the property has increased until it has come to +this.” Mrs. Lloyd's chief pride was in the very facts which +others deprecated. When she considered the many-windowed pile of +Lloyd's, and that her husband was the recognized head and authority +over all those throngs of grimy men, walking with the stoop of daily +labor, carrying their little dinner-boxes with mechanical clutches of +leather-tanned fingers, she used to send up a prayer for humility, +lest evil and downfall of pride come to her. She was a pious woman, a +member of the First Baptist Church, and active in charitable work. +Mrs. Norman Lloyd adored her husband, and her estimate of him was +almost ludicrously different from that of the grimy men who flocked +to his factory, she seeing a most kindly spirited and amiable man, +devoting himself to the best interests of his employés, and +striving ever for their benefit rather than his own, and the others +seeing an aristocrat by birth and training, who was in trade because +of shrewd business instincts and a longing for wealth and power, but +who despised, and felt himself wholly superior to, the means by which +it was acquired.</p> + +<p>“We ain't anything but the rounds of the ladder for Norman +Lloyd to climb by, and he only sees and feels us with the soles of +his patent-leathers,” one of the turbulent spirits in his +factory said. Mrs. Norman Lloyd would not have believed her ears had +she heard him.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lloyd had not sat long before Cynthia's fire that evening +before she opened on the subject of the lost child. “Oh, +Cynthia, have you heard—” she began, but Risley cut her +short.</p> + +<p>“About that little girl who ran away?” he said. +“Yes, we have; we were just talking about her.”</p> + +<p>“Did you ever hear anything like it?” said Mrs. Lloyd. +“They say they can't find out where she's been. She won't tell. +Don't you believe somebody has threatened her if she does?”</p> + +<p>Cynthia raised herself and began to speak, but a slight, almost +imperceptible gesture from the man beside her stopped her.</p> + +<p>“What did you say, Cynthia?”</p> + +<p>“There is no accounting for children's freaks,” said +Risley, shortly and harshly. Mrs. Lloyd was not thin-skinned; such a +current of exuberant cordiality emanated from her own nature that she +was not very susceptible to any counter-force. Now, however, she felt +vaguely and wonderingly, as a child might have done, that for some +reason Lyman Risley was rude to her, and she had a sense of +bewildered injury. Mrs. Lloyd was always, moreover, somewhat anxious +as to the relations between Cynthia and Lyman Risley. She heard a +deal of talk about it first and last; and while she had no word of +unkind comment herself, yet she felt at times uneasy. “Folks do +talk about Cynthia and Lyman Risley keeping company so long,” +she told her husband; “it's as much as twenty years. It does +seem as if they ought to get married, don't you think so, Norman? Do +you suppose it is because the property was left that way—for +you know Lyman hasn't got anything besides what he earns—or do +you suppose it is because Cynthia doesn't want to marry him? I guess +it is that. Cynthia never seemed to me as if she would ever care +enough about any man to marry him. I guess that's it; but I do think +she ought to stop his coming there quite so much, especially when +people know that about her property.”</p> + +<p>Cynthia's property was hers on condition that her husband took her +name if she married, otherwise it was forfeited to her sister's +child. “Catch a Risley ever taking his wife's name!” said +Mrs. Lloyd. “Of course Cynthia would be willing to give up the +money if she loved him, but I don't believe she does. It seems as if +Lyman Risley ought to see it would be better for him not to go there +so much if they weren't going to be married.”</p> + +<p>So it happened when Risley caught up her question to Cynthia in +that peremptory fashion, Mrs. Lloyd felt in addition to the present +cause some which had gone before for her grievance. She addressed +herself thereafter entirely and pointedly to Cynthia. “Did you +ever see that little girl, Cynthia?” said she.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied Cynthia, in a voice so strange that the +other woman stared wonderingly at her.</p> + +<p>“Ain't you feeling well, Cynthia?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Very well, thank you,” said Cynthia.</p> + +<p>“When did you see her?” asked Mrs. Lloyd. Cynthia +opened her mouth as if to speak, then she glanced at Risley, whose +eyes held her, and laughed instead—a strange, nervous laugh. +Happily, Mrs. Lloyd did not wait for her answer. She had her own +important information to impart. She had in reality stopped for that +purpose. “Well, I have seen her,” she said. “I met +her in front of Crosby's one day last summer. And she was so +sweet-looking I stopped and spoke to her—I couldn't help it. +She had beautiful eyes, and the softest light curls, and she was +dressed so pretty, and the flowers on her hat were nice. The +embroidery on her dress was very fine, too. Usually, you know, those +people don't care about the fineness, as long as it is wide, and +showy, and bright-colored. I asked her what her name was, and she +answered just as pretty, and her mother told me how old she was. Her +mother was a handsome woman, though she had an up-and-coming kind of +way with her. But she seemed real pleased to have me notice the +child. Where do you suppose she was all that time, +Cynthia?”</p> + +<p>“She was in some safe place, undoubtedly,” said +Risley, and again Mrs. Lloyd felt that she was snubbed, though not +seeing how nor why, and again she rebelled with that soft and gentle +persistency in her own course which was the only rebellion of which +she was capable.</p> + +<p>“Where do you suppose she was, Cynthia?” said she.</p> + +<p>“I think some woman must have seen her, and coaxed her in +and kept her, she was such a pretty child,” said Cynthia, +defiantly and desperately. But the other woman looked at her in +wonder.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Cynthia, I can't believe that,” said she. +“It don't seem as if any woman could be so bad as that when the +child's mother was in such agony over her.” And then she +added, “I can't believe it, because it seems to me that if any +woman was bad enough to do that, she couldn't have given her up at +all, she was such a beautiful child.” Mrs. Norman Lloyd had no +children of her own, and was given to gazing with eyes of gentle envy +at pretty, rosy little girls, frilled with white embroidery like +white pinks, dancing along in leading hands of maternal love. +“It don't seem to me I could ever have given her up, if I had +once been bad enough to steal her,” she said. “What put +such an idea into your head, Cynthia?”</p> + +<p>When the church-bell clanged out just then Lyman Risley had never +been so thankful in his life. Mrs. Lloyd rose promptly, for she had +to lead the meeting, that being the custom among the sisters in her +church. “Well,” said she, “I am thankful she is +found, anyway; I couldn't have slept a wink that night if I had known +she was lost, the dear little thing. Good-night, Cynthia; don't come +to the door. Good-night, Mr. Risley. Come and see me, +Cynthia—do, dear.”</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Norman Lloyd was gone, Risley looked at Cynthia with a +long breath of relief, but she turned to him with seemingly no +appreciation of it, and repeated her declaration which Mrs. Lloyd's +coming had interrupted: “Lyman, I am going there +to-night—this minute. Will you go with me? No, you must not go +with me. I am going!” She sprang to her feet.</p> + +<p>“Sit down, Cynthia,” said Risley. “I tell you +they were not harsh to her. You don't seem to consider that they love +the child—possibly better than you can—and would not in +the nature of things be harsh to her under such circumstances. Sit +down and hear the rest of it.”</p> + +<p>“But they will be harsh by-and-by, after the first joy of +finding her is over,” said Cynthia. “I will go and tell +them the first thing in the morning, Lyman.”</p> + +<p>“You will do nothing so foolish. They are not only not +insisting upon her telling her secret, but announced to me their +determination not to do so in the future. I wish you could have seen +that man's face when he told me what a delicate, nervous little thing +his child was, and the doctor said she must not be fretted if she had +taken a notion not to tell; and I wish you could have seen the mother +and the aunt, and the grandmother, Mrs. Zelotes Brewster. They would +all give each other and themselves up to be torn of wild beasts +first. It is easy to see where the child got her extraordinary +strength of will. They took me out in the sitting-room, and there was +a wild flurry of feminine skirts before me. I had previously +overheard myself announced as Lawyer Risley by the aunt, and the +response from various voices that they were ‘goin' if he was +comin' out in the sittin'-room.’ It always made them nervous +to see lawyers. Well, I followed the parents and the grandmother and +the aunt out. I dared not refuse when they suggested it, and I hoped +desperately that the child would not remember me from that one scared +glance she gave at me this morning. But there she sat in her little +chair, holding the doll you gave her, and she looked up at me when I +entered, and I have never in the whole course of my existence seen +such an expression upon the face of a child. Remember me? Indeed she +did, and she promised me with the faithfulest, stanchest eyes of a +woman set in a child's head that she would not tell; that I need not +fear for one minute; that the lady who had given her the doll was +quite safe. She knew, and she must have heard what I said to you this +morning. She is the most wonderful child I have ever seen.”</p> + +<p>Cynthia had sank back in her chair. Lyman Risley put his cigar +back between his lips; Cynthia was quite still, her delicate profile +towards him.</p> + +<p>“I assure you there is not the slightest danger of their +troubling the child because of her silence, and you would do an +exceedingly foolish thing, and its consequences would react not upon +yourself only, but—upon others, were you to confess the truth +to them,” he said after a little. “You must think of +others—of your friends, and of your sister's boy, whose loss +led you into this. This would—well, it would get into the +papers, Cynthia.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think that the doll continued to please her?” +asked Cynthia.</p> + +<p>“Cynthia, I want you to promise,” said her friend, +persistently.</p> + +<p>“Very well, I will promise, if you will promise to let me +know the minute you hear that they are treating her harshly because +of her silence.”</p> + +<p>Suddenly Cynthia turned her face upon him. “Lyman,” +said she, “do you think that I could do anything for +her—”</p> + +<p>“Do anything for her?” he repeated, vaguely.</p> + +<p>“Yes; they cannot have money. They must be poor: the father +works in the factory. Would they allow me—”</p> + +<p>The lawyer laughed. “Cynthia,” he said, “you do +not realize that pride finds its native element in all strata of +society, and riches are comparative. Let me inform you that these +Brewsters, of whom this child sprung, claim as high places in the +synagogue as any of your Lennoxes and Risleys, and, what is more, +they believe themselves there. They have seen the tops of their +neighbors' heads as often as you or I. The mere fact of familiarity +with shoe-knives and leather, and hand-skill instead of brain-skill, +makes no difference with such inherent confidence of importance as +theirs. The Louds, on the other side—the handsome aunt is a +Loud—are rather below caste, but they make up for it with +defiance. And as for riches, I would have you know that the Brewsters +are as rich in their own estimation as you in yours; that they have +possessions which entirely meet their needs and their æsthetic +longings; that not only does Andrew Brewster earn exceedingly good +wages in the shop, and is able to provide plenty of nourishing food +and good clothes, but even by-and-by, if he prospers and is prudent, +something rather extra in the way of education—perhaps a piano. +I would have you know that there is a Rogers group on a little +marble-topped table in the front window, and a table in the side +window with a worked spread, on which reposes a red plush photograph +album; that there is also a set of fine parlor furniture, with +various devices in the way of silken and lace scarfs over the corners +and backs of the chairs and sofa, and that there is a tapestry +carpet; that in the sitting-room is a fine crushed-plush couch, and a +multiplicity of rocking-chairs; that there is a complete dining-set +in the next room, the door of which stood open, and even a side-board +with red napkins, and a fine display of glass, every whit as elegant +in their estimation as your cut glass in yours. The child's father +owns his house and land free of encumbrance. He told me so in the +course of his artless boasting as to what he might some day be able +to do for the precious little creature of his own flesh and blood; +and the grandmother owns her comfortable place next door, and she +herself was dressed in black silk, and I will swear the lace on her +cap was real, and she wore a great brooch containing hair of the +departed, and it was set in pearl. What are you going to do in the +face of opulence like this, Cynthia?”</p> + +<p>Cynthia did not speak; her face looked as still as if it were +carved in ivory.</p> + +<p>“Cynthia,” said the man, in a harsh voice, “I +did not dream you were so broken up over losing that little boy of +your sister's, poor girl.”</p> + +<p>Cynthia still said nothing, but a tear rolled down her cheek. +Lyman Risley saw it, then he looked straight ahead, scowling over his +cigar. He seemed suddenly to realize in this woman whom he loved +something anomalous, yet lovely—a beauty, as it were, of +deformity, an over-development in one direction, though a direction +of utter grace and sweetness, like the lip of an orchid.</p> + +<p>Why should she break her heart over a child whom she had never +seen before, and have no love and pity for the man who had laid his +best at her feet so long?</p> + +<p>He saw at a flash the sweet yet monstrous imperfection of her, and +he loved her better for it.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter IX</h3> + +<p>After Ellen's experience in running away, she dreamed her dreams +with a difference. The breath of human passion had stained the pure +crystal of her childish imagination; she peopled all her air-castles, +and sounds of wailing farewells floated from the White North of her +fancy after the procession of the evergreen trees in the west yard, +and the cherry-trees on the east had found out that they were not in +the Garden of Eden. In those days Ellen grew taller and thinner, and +the cherubic roundness of her face lengthened into a sweet +wistfulness of wonder and pleading, as of one who would look farther, +since she heard sounds and saw signs in her sky which indicated more +beyond. Andrew and Fanny watched her more anxiously than ever, and +decided not to send her to school before spring, though all the +neighbors exclaimed at their tardiness in so doing. “She'll be +two years back of my Hattie gettin' into the high-school,” said +one woman, bluntly, to Fanny, who retorted, angrily,</p> + +<p>“I don't care if she's ten years behind, if she don't lose +her health.”</p> + +<p>“You wait and see if she's two years behind!” +exclaimed Eva, who had just returned from the shop, and had entered +the room bringing a fresh breath of December air, her cheeks glowing, +her black eyes shining.</p> + +<p>Eva was so handsome in those days that she fairly forced +admiration, even from those of her own sex whose delicacy of taste +she offended. She had a parcel in her hand, which she had bought at a +store on her way home, for she was getting ready to be married to Jim +Tenny. “I tell you there don't nobody know what that young one +can do,” continued Eva, with a radiant nod of triumph. +“There ain't many grown-up folks round here that can read like +her, and she's studied geography, and she knows her +multiplication-table, and she can spell better than some that's been +through the high-school. You jest wait till Ellen gets started on her +schoolin'—she won't stay in the grammar-school long, I can tell +you that. She'll go ahead of some that's got a start now and think +they're 'most there.” Eva pulled off her hat, and the coarse +black curls on her forehead sprang up like released wire. She nodded +emphatically with a good-humored combativeness at the visiting woman +and at her sister.</p> + +<p>“I hope your cheeks are red enough,” said Fanny, +looking at her with grateful admiration.</p> + +<p>The visiting woman sniffed covertly, and a retort which seemed to +her exceedingly witty was loud in her own consciousness. “Them +that likes beets and pinies is welcome to them,” she thought, +but she did not speak. “Well,” said she, “folks +must do as they think best about their own children. I have always +thought a good deal of an education myself. I was brought up that +way.” She looked with eyes that were fairly cruel at Eva Loud +and Fanny, who had been a Loud, who had both stopped going to school +at a very early age.</p> + +<p>Then the rich red flamed over Eva's forehead and neck as well as +her cheeks. There was nothing covert about her, she would drag an +ambushed enemy forth into the open field even at the risk of damaging +disclosures regarding herself.</p> + +<p>“Why don't you say jest what you mean, right out, Jennie +Stebbins?” she demanded. “You are hintin' that Fanny and +me never had no education, and twittin' us with it.”</p> + +<p>“It wa'n't our fault,” said Fanny, no less +angrily.</p> + +<p>“No, it wa'n't our fault,” assented Eva. “We had +to quit school. Folks can live with empty heads, but they can't with +empty stomachs. It had to be one or the other. If you want to twit us +with bein' poor, you can, Jennie Stebbins.”</p> + +<p>“I haven't said anything,” said Mrs. Stebbins, with a +scared and injured air. “I'd like to know what you're making +all this fuss about? I don't know. What did I say?”</p> + +<p>“If I'd said anything mean, I wouldn't turn tail an' run, +I'd stick to it about one minute and a half, if it killed me,” +said Eva, scornfully.</p> + +<p>“You know what you was hintin' at, jest as well as we +do,” said Fanny; “but it ain't so true as you and some +other folks may think, I can tell you that. If Eva and me didn't go +to school as long as some, we have always read every chance we could +get.”</p> + +<p>“That's so,” said Eva, emphatically. “I guess +we've read enough sight more than some folks that has had a good deal +more chance to read. Fanny and me have taken books out of the library +full as much as any of the neighbors, I rather guess.”</p> + +<p>“We've read every single thing that Mrs. Southworth has ever +written,” said Fanny, “and that's sayin' +considerable.”</p> + +<p>“And all Pansy's and Rider Haggard's,” declared Eva, +with triumph.</p> + +<p>“And every one of The Duchess and Marie Corelli, and Sir +Walter Scott, and George Macdonald, and Laura Jean Libbey, and +Charles Reade, and more, besides, than I can think of.”</p> + +<p>“Fanny has read 'most all Tennyson,” said Eva, with +loyal admiration; “she likes poetry, but I don't very well. She +has read most all Tennyson and Longfellow, and we've both read +<cite>Queechee</cite>, and <cite>St. Elmo</cite>, and <cite>Jane +Eyre</cite>.”</p> + +<p>“And we've read the Bible through,” said Fanny, +“because we read in a paper once that that was a complete +education. We made up our minds we'd read it through, and we did, +though it took us quite a while.”</p> + +<p>“And we take <cite>Zion's Herald</cite>, and <cite>The Rowe +Gazette</cite>, and <cite>The Youth's Companion</cite>,” said +Eva.</p> + +<p>“And we've both of us learned Ellen geography and spellin' +and 'rithmetic, till we know most as much as she does,” said +Fanny.</p> + +<p>“That's so,” said Fanny. “I snum, I believe I +could get into the high-school myself, if I wasn't goin' to git +married,” said Eva, with a gay laugh. She was so happy in those +days that her power of continued resentment was small. The tide of +her own bliss returned upon her full consciousness and overflowed, +and crested, as with glory, all petty annoyances.</p> + +<p>The visiting woman took up her work, and rose to go with a +slightly abashed air, though her small brown eyes were still blanks +of impregnable defence. “Well, I dunno what I've said to stir +you both so,” she remarked again. “If I've said anythin' +that riled you, I'm sorry, I'm sure. As I said before, folks must do +as they are a mind to with their own children. If they see fit to +keep 'em home from school until they're women grown, and if they +think it's best not to punish 'em when they run away, why they must. +I 'ain't got no right to say anythin', and I 'ain't.”</p> + +<p>“You—” began Fanny, and then she stopped short, +and Eva began arranging her hair before the glass. “The wind +blew so comin' home,” she said, “that my hair is all +out.” The visiting woman stared with a motion of adjustive +bewilderment, as one might before a sudden change of wind, then she +looked, as a shadowy motion disturbed the even light of the room and +little Ellen passed the window. She knew at once, for she had heard +the gossip, that the ready tongues of recrimination were hushed +because of the child, and then Ellen entered.</p> + +<p>The winter afternoon was waning and the light was low; the child's +face, with its clear fairness, seemed to gleam out in the room like a +lamp with a pale luminosity of its own.</p> + +<p>The three women, the mother, and aunt, and the visiting neighbor, +all looked at her, and Ellen smiled up at them as innocently sweet as +a flower. There was that in Ellen's smile and regard at that time +which no woman could resist. Suddenly the visiting neighbor laid a +finger softly under her chin and tilted up her little face towards +the light. Then she said with that unconscious poetry of bereavement +which sees a likeness in all fair things of earth to the face of the +lost treasure, “I do believe she looks like my first little +girl that died.”</p> + +<p>After the visiting woman had gone, Fanny and Eva calling after her +to come again, they looked at each other, then at Ellen. “That +little girl that died favored the Stebbinses, and was dark as an +Injun,” said Fanny, “no more like Ellen—”</p> + +<p>“That's so,” acquiesced Eva; “I remember that +young one. Lookin' like Ellen—I'd like to see the child that +did look like her; there ain't none round these parts. I wish you +could have seen folks stare at her when I took her down street +yesterday. One woman said, ‘Ain't she pretty as a +picture,’ so loud I heard it, but Ellen didn't seem +to.”</p> + +<p>“Sometimes I wonder if we'll make her proud,” Fanny +said, in a hushed voice, with a look of admiration that savored of +worship at Ellen.</p> + +<p>“She don't ever seem to notice,” said Eva, with a +hushed response. Indeed, Ellen had seemed to pay no attention +whatever to their remarks, whether from an innate humility and lack +of self-consciousness, or because she was so accustomed to adulation +that it had become as the breath of her nostrils, to be taken no more +account of. She had seated herself in her favorite place in a +rocking-chair at a west window, with her chin resting on the sill, +and her eyes staring into the great out-of-doors, full of winds and +skies and trees and her own imaginings.</p> + +<p>She would sit so, motionless, for hours at a time, and sometimes +her mother would rouse her almost roughly. “What be you +thinkin' about, settin' there so still?” she would ask, with +eyes of vague anxiety fixed upon her, but Ellen could never +answer.</p> + +<p>Though it was getting late, it did not seem dark as early as +usual, since there was a full moon and there was snow on the ground +which gave forth a pale light in a wide surface of reflection. +However, the moon was behind clouds, for it was beginning to snow +again quite heavily, and the white flakes drove in whirlwinds past +the street-lamp on the corner of the street. Now and then a tramping +and muffled figure came into the radius of light, then passed into +the white gloom beyond.</p> + +<p>Fanny was preparing supper, and the light from the dining-room +shone in where Ellen sat, but the sitting-room was not lighted. Ellen +began to smell the fragrance of tea and toast, and there was a +reflection of the dining-room table and lamp outside pictured vividly +against the white sheet of storm.</p> + +<p>Ellen knew better, but it amused her to think that her home was +out-of-doors as well as under her father's and mother's roof. Eva +passed her with her hands full of kindlings. She was going to make a +fire in the parlor-stove, for Jim Tenny was coming that evening. She +laid a tender hand on Ellen's head as she passed, and smoothed her +hair. Ellen had a sort of acquiescent wonder over her aunt Eva in +those days. She heard people say Eva was getting ready to be married, +and speculated. “What is getting ready to be married?” +she asked Eva.</p> + +<p>“Why, getting your clothes made, you little ninny,” +Eva answered.</p> + +<p>The next day Ellen had watched her mother at work upon a new +little frock for herself for some time before she spoke.</p> + +<p>“Mother,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Yes, child.”</p> + +<p>“Mother, you are making that new dress for me, ain't +you?”</p> + +<p>“Of course I am; why?”</p> + +<p>“And you made me a new coat last week?”</p> + +<p>“Why, you know I did, Ellen; what do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“And you are going to make me a petticoat and put that +pretty lace on it?”</p> + +<p>“You know I am, Ellen Brewster, what be you drivin' +at?”</p> + +<p>“Be I a-gettin' ready to be married, mother?” asked +Ellen, with the strangest look of wonder and awe and +anticipation.</p> + +<p>Fanny had told this saying of the child's to everybody, and that +evening when Jim Tenny came he caught up Ellen and gave her a toss to +the ceiling, a trick of his which filled Ellen with a sort of fearful +delight, the delight of helplessness in the hands of strength, and +the titillation of evanescent risk.</p> + +<p>“So you are gettin' ready to be married, are you?” Jim +Tenny said, with a great laugh, looking at her soberly, with big +black eyes. Jim Tenny was a handsome fellow, and much larger and +stronger than her father. Ellen liked him; he often brought candies +in his pocket for her, and they were great friends, but she could +never understand why he stayed in the parlor all alone with her aunt +Eva, instead of in the sitting-room with the others.</p> + +<p>Ellen had looked back at him as soberly. “Mother says I +'ain't,” she replied, “but—”</p> + +<p>“But what?”</p> + +<p>“I am getting most as many new clothes as Aunt Eva, and she +is.”</p> + +<p>“And you think maybe you are gettin' ready to be married, +after all, hey?”</p> + +<p>“I think maybe mother wants to surprise me,” Ellen +said.</p> + +<p>Jim Tenny had all of a sudden shaken convulsively as if with +mirth, but his face remained perfectly sober.</p> + +<p>That evening after the parlor door was closed upon Jim and Eva, +Ellen wondered what they were laughing at.</p> + +<p>To-night when she saw Eva enter the room, a lighted lamp +illuminating her face fairly reckless with happiness, to light the +fire in the courting-stove as her sister facetiously called it, she +thought to herself that Jim Tenny was coming, that they would be shut +up in there all alone as usual, and then she looked out at the storm +and the night again, and the little home picture thrown against it. +Then she saw her father coming into the yard with his arms full of +parcels, and she was out of her chair and at the kitchen door to meet +him.</p> + +<p>Andrew had brought as usual some dainties for his darling. He +watched Ellen unwrap the various parcels, not smiling as usual, but +with a curious knitting of his forehead and pitiful compression of +mouth. When she had finished and ran into the other room to show a +great orange to her aunt, he drew a heavy sigh that was almost a +groan. His wife coming in from the kitchen with a dish heard him, and +looked at him with quick anxiety, though she spoke in a merry, +rallying way.</p> + +<p>“For the land sake, Andrew Brewster, what be you groanin' +that way for?” she cried out.</p> + +<p>Andrew's tense face did not relax; he strove to push past her +without a word, but Fanny stood before him. “Now, look at here, +Andrew,” said she, “you 'ain't goin' to walk off with a +face like that, unless I know what the matter is. Are you +sick?”</p> + +<p>“No, I ain't sick, Fanny,” Andrew said; then in a low +voice, “Let me go, I will tell you by-and-by.”</p> + +<p>“No, Andrew, you have got to tell me now. I'm goin' to know +whatever has happened.”</p> + +<p>“Wait till after supper, Fanny.”</p> + +<p>“No, I can't wait. Look here, Andrew, you are my husband, +and there ain't no trouble that can come to you in this world that I +can't bear, except not knowin'. You've got to tell me what the matter +is.”</p> + +<p>“Well, keep quiet till after supper, then,” said +Andrew. Then suddenly he leaned his face close to her and whispered +with a hiss of tragedy, “Lloyd's shut down.”</p> + +<p>Fanny recoiled and looked at him.</p> + +<p>“When?”</p> + +<p>“The foreman gave notice to-night.”</p> + +<p>“For how long? Did he say?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, till business got better—same old story. Unless +I'm mistaken, Lloyd's will be shut down all winter.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it ain't so bad for us as for some,” said +Fanny. Both pride and a wish to cheer her husband induced her to say +that. She did not like to think that, after the fine marriage she had +made, she needed to be as distressed at a temporary loss of +employment as others. Then, too, that look of overhanging melancholy +in Andrew's face alarmed her; she felt that she must drive it away at +any cost.</p> + +<p>“Seems to me it's bad enough for anybody,” said +Andrew, morosely.</p> + +<p>“Now, Andrew, you know it ain't. Here we own the house +clear, and we've got that money in the savings-bank, and all that's +your mother's is yours in the end. Of course we ain't always thinkin' +of that, and I'm sure I hope she'll outlive me, but it's so. You know +we sha'n't starve if you don't have work.”</p> + +<p>“We shall starve in the end, and you know I've +been—” Andrew stopped suddenly as he heard Ellen and his +sister-in-law coming. He shook his head at his wife with a warning +motion that she should keep silence.</p> + +<p>“Don't Eva know?” she whispered.</p> + +<p>“No, she came out early. Do for Heaven's sake keep quiet +till after supper.”</p> + +<p>Eva was sharp-eyed, and all through supper she watched Andrew, and +the lines of melancholy on his face, which did not disappear even +when he forced conversation.</p> + +<p>“What in creation ails you, Andrew?” she burst out, +finally. “You look like a walking funeral.”</p> + +<p>Andrew made no reply, and Fanny volunteered an answer. “He's +all tired out,” she said; “he's got a little cold. Eat +some more of the stew, Andrew; it'll do you good, it's nice and +hot.”</p> + +<p>“You can't cheat me,” said Eva. “There's +something to pay.” She took a mouthful, then she stared at +Andrew, with a sudden pallor. “It ain't anythin' about Jim, is +it?” she gasped out. “Because if it is, there's no use in +your waitin' to tell me, you might as well have it over at once. You +won't make it any easier for me, I can tell you that.”</p> + +<p>“No, it ain't anything about Jim, in the way you mean, +Eva,” her sister said, soothingly. “Eat your supper and +don't worry.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean by that? Jim ain't sick?”</p> + +<p>“No, I tell you; don't be a goose, Eva.”</p> + +<p>“He ain't been anywhere with—”</p> + +<p>“Do keep still, Eva!” Fanny cried, impatiently. +“If I didn't have any more faith than that in a man, I'd give +him up. I don't think you're fair to Jim. Of course he ain't been +with that girl, when he's goin' to marry you next month.”</p> + +<p>“I'm just as fair to Jim as he deserves,” Eva said, +simply. “I think just as much of him, but what a man's done +once he may do again, and I can't help it if I think of it, and he +shouldn't be surprised. He's brought it on himself. I've got as much +faith in him as anybody can have, seein' as he's a man. Well, if it +ain't that, Andrew Brewster, what is it?”</p> + +<p>“Now, you let him alone till after supper, Eva,” Fanny +said. “Do let him have a little peace.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I'll get it out of him afterwards,” Eva +said.</p> + +<p>As soon as she got up from the table she pushed him into the +sitting-room. “Now, out with it,” said she. Ellen, who +had followed them, stood looking at them both, her lips parted, her +eyes full of half-alarmed curiosity.</p> + +<p>“Lloyd's has shut down, if you want to know,” Andrew +said, shortly.</p> + +<p>“Oh my God!” cried Eva. Andrew shrank from her +impatiently. She made that ejaculation because she was a Loud, and +had an off-streak in her blood. Not one of Andrew's pure New England +stock would have so expressed herself. He sat down beside the lamp +and took up the evening paper. Eva stood looking at him a minute. She +was quite pale, she was weighing consequences. Then she went out to +her sister. “Well, you know what's happened, Fan, I +s'pose,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I'm awful sorry, but I tell Andrew it ain't so bad for +us as for some; we sha'n't starve.”</p> + +<p>“I don't know as I care much whether I starve or not,” +said Eva. “It's goin' to make me put off my weddin'; and if I +do put it off, Jim and me will never get married at all; I feel it in +my bones.”</p> + +<p>“Why, what should you have to put it off for?” asked +Fanny.</p> + +<p>“Why? I should think you'd know why without askin'. Ain't I +spent every dollar I have saved up on my weddin' fixin's, and Jim, +he's got his mother on his hands, and she's been sick, and he ain't +saved up anything. If you s'pose I'm goin' to marry him and make him +any worse off than he is now you're mistaken.”</p> + +<p>“Well, mebbe Jim can work somewhere else, and mebbe Lloyd's +won't be shut up long,” Fanny said, consolingly. “I +wouldn't give up so, if I was you.”</p> + +<p>“I might jest as well,” Eva returned. “It's no +use, Jim and me will never get married.” Eva's face was +curiously set; she was not in the least loud nor violent as was +usually the case when she was in trouble, her voice was quite low, +and she spoke slowly.</p> + +<p>Fanny looked anxiously at her. “It ain't as though you +hadn't a roof to cover you,” she said, “for you've got +mine and Andrew's as long as we have one ourselves.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think I'd live on Andrew long?” demanded +Eva.</p> + +<p>“You won't have to. Jim will get work in a week or two, and +you'll get married. Don't act so. I declare, I'm ashamed of you, Eva +Loud. I thought you had more sense, to give up discouraged at no more +than this. I don't see why you jump way ahead into trouble before you +get to it.”</p> + +<p>“I've got to it, and I can feel the steam of it in my +face,” Eva said, with unconscious imagery. Then she lit a lamp, +and went up-stairs to change her dress before Jim Tenny arrived.</p> + +<p>It was snowing hard. Ellen sat in her place by the window and +watched the flakes drive past the radiance of the street-lamp on the +corner, and past the reflection of the warm, bright room. Now she +could see, since the light was in the room where she sat, her father +beside the table reading his paper, and shadowy images of all the +familiar things projecting themselves like a mirage of home into the +night and storm. Ellen could see, even without turning round, that +her father looked very sober, and did not seem to be much interested +in his paper, and a vague sense of calamity oppressed her. She did +not know just what might be involved in Lloyd's shutting down, but +she saw that her father and aunt were disturbed, and her imaginings +were half eclipsed by a shadow of material things. Ellen dearly loved +this early evening hour when she could stare out into the mystery of +the night, herself sheltered under the wing of home, and the fancies +which her childish brain wove were as a garment of spirit for the +future; but to-night she did not dream so much as she wondered and +reflected. Pretty soon Ellen saw a man's figure plodding through the +fast-gathering snow, and heard her aunt Eva make a soft, heavy rush +down the front stairs, and she knew the man was Jim Tenny, and her +aunt had been watching for him. Ellen wondered why she had watched up +in her cold room, why she had not sat down-stairs where it was warm, +and let Jim ring the door-bell. Ellen liked Jim Tenny, but there was +often that in her aunt's eyes regarding him which made Ellen look +past him and above him to see if there was another man there. Ellen +heard the fire crackling in the parlor-stove, and saw the light +shining under the parlor threshold, and heard the soft hum of voices. +Her mother, having finished washing up the supper dishes, came in +presently and seated herself beside the lamp with her +needle-work.</p> + +<p>“You don't feel any wind comin' in the window?” she +said, anxiously, to Ellen.</p> + +<p>“No, ma'am,” replied Ellen.</p> + +<p>Andrew looked up quickly. “You're sure you don't?” he +said.</p> + +<p>“No, sir.”</p> + +<p>Ellen watched her mother sewing out in the snowy yard, then a dark +shadow came between the reflection and the window, then another. Two +men treading in the snow in even file, one in the other's +foot-tracks, came into the yard.</p> + +<p>“Somebody's comin',” said Ellen, as a knock, came on +the side door.</p> + +<p>“Did you see who 'twas?” Fanny asked, starting up.</p> + +<p>“Two men.”</p> + +<p>“It's somebody to see you, Andrew,” Fanny said, and +Andrew tossed his paper on the table and went to the door.</p> + +<p>When the door was opened Ellen heard a man cough.</p> + +<p>“I should think anybody was crazy to come out such a night +as this, coughin' that way,” murmured Fanny. “I do +believe it's Joe Atkins; sounds like his cough.” Then Andrew +entered with the two men stamping and shaking themselves.</p> + +<p>“Here's Joseph Atkins and Nahum Beals,” Andrew said, +in his melancholy voice, all unstirred by the usual warmth of +greeting. The two men bowed stiffly.</p> + +<p>“Good-evenin',” Fanny said, and rose and pushed +forward the rocking-chair in which she had been seated to Joseph +Atkins, who was a consumptive man with an invalid wife, and worked +next Andrew in Lloyd's.</p> + +<p>“Keep your settin', keep your settin',” he returned in +his quick, nervous way, as if his very words were money for dire +need, and sat himself down in a straight chair far from the fire. The +other man, Nahum Beals, was very young. He seated himself next to +Joseph, and the two side by side looked with gloomy significance at +Andrew and Fanny. Then Joseph Atkins burst out suddenly in a rattling +volley of coughs.</p> + +<p>“You hadn't ought to come out such a night as this, I'm +afraid, Mr. Atkins,” said Fanny.</p> + +<p>“He's been out jest as bad weather as this all +winter,” said the young man, Nahum Beals, in an unexpectedly +deep voice. “The workers of this world can't afford to take no +account of weather. It's for the rich folks to look out betwixt their +lace curtains and see if it looks lowery, so they sha'n't git their +gold harnesses and their shiny carriages, an' their silks an' velvets +an' ostrich feathers wet. The poor folks that it's life and death to +have to go out whether or no, no matter if they've got an extra suit +of clothes or not. They've got to go out through the drenchin' rain +and the snow-drifts, to earn money so that the rich folks can have +them gold-plated harnesses and them silks and velvets. Joe's been out +all winter in weather as bad as this, after he's been standin' all +day in a shop as hot as hell, drenched with sweat. One more time +won't make much difference.”</p> + +<p>“It would be 'nough sight better for me if it did,” +said Joseph Atkins, chokingly, and still with that same seeming of +hurry.</p> + +<p>Fanny had gone out to the dining-room, and now she returned +stirring some whiskey and molasses in a cup.</p> + +<p>“Here,” said she, “you take this, Mr. Atkins; +it's real good for a cough. Andrew cured a cold with it last +month.”</p> + +<p>“Mine ain't a cold, and it can't be cured in this world, but +it's better for me, I guess,” said Joe Atkins, chokingly, but +he took the cup.</p> + +<p>“Now, you hadn't ought to talk so,” Fanny said. +“You had ought to think of your wife and children.”</p> + +<p>“My life is insured,” said Joseph Atkins.</p> + +<p>“We ain't got no money and no jewelry, and no silver to +leave them we love—all we've got to leave 'em is the price of +our own lives,” said Nahum Beals.</p> + +<p>“I wish I had got my life insured,” Andrew said.</p> + +<p>“Don't talk so, Andrew,” Fanny cried, with a +shudder.</p> + +<p>“My life is insured for two thousand dollars,” Joe +Atkins said, with an odd sort of pride. “I had it done three +years ago. My lungs was sound as anybody's then, but that very next +summer I worked up under that tin roof, and came out as wet as if I'd +been dipped in the river, into an east wind, and got a chill. It was +the only time I ever struck luck—to get insured before that +happened. Nobody'd look at me now, and I dunno what they'd do. I +'ain't laid up a cent, I've had so much sickness in my +family.”</p> + +<p>“If you hadn't worked that summer in the annex under that +tin roof, you'd be as well as you ever was now,” said Nahum +Beals.</p> + +<p>“I worked there 'longside of you that summer,” said +Andrew to Joe, with bitter reminiscence. “We used to strip like +a gang of convicts, and we stood in pools of sweat. It was that awful +hot summer, and the room had only that one row of windows facing the +east, and the wind never that way.”</p> + +<p>“Not till I came out of the shop that night I took the +chill,” said Joe.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the young man, Nahum Beals, hit his knees a sounding +slap, which made Ellen, furtively and timidly attentive at her +window, jump. “It seems sometimes as if the Almighty himself +was in league with 'em,” he shouted out, “but I tell you +it won't last, it won't last.”</p> + +<p>“I don't see much sign of any change for the better,” +Andrew said, gloomily.</p> + +<p>“I tell you, sir, it won't last,” repeated Nahum +Beals. “I tell you, the Lord only raises 'em up higher and +higher that He may dash 'em lower when the time comes. The same earth +is beneath the high places of this life, and the lowly ones, and the +law that governs 'em is the same, and—the higher the place the +longer the fall, and the longer the fall the sorer the hurt.” +Nahum Beals sprang to his feet with a strange abandon of +self-consciousness and a fiery impetus for one of his New England +blood. He had a delicate, nervous face, like a woman's, his blue eyes +gleamed like blue flames under his overhang of white forehead, he +shook his head as if it were maned like a lion, and, though he wore +his thin, fair hair short, one could seem to see it flung back in +glistening lines. He spread his hands as if he were addressing an +audience, and as he did so the parlor door opened and Jim Tenny and +Eva stood there, listening.</p> + +<p>“I tell you, sir,” shouted Nahum Beals, “the +time will come when you will all thank God that you belong to the +poor and down-trodden of this earth, and not to the rich and +great—the time will come. There's knives to sharpen to-day, and +wood for scaffolds as plenty as in the days of the French Revolution, +and the hand that marks the time of day on the clock of men's +patience with wrong and oppression has near gone round to the same +hour and minute.”</p> + +<p>Andrew Brewster looked at him, with a curious expression half of +disgust, half of sympathy. His sense of dignity in the face of +adversity inherited from his New England race was shocked; he was not +one to be blindly swayed by another's fervor even when his own wrongs +were in question. He would not have made a good follower in a +revolution, nor a leader. He would simply have found his own place of +fixed principle and abided there. Then, too, he had a judicial mind +which could combine the elements of counsels for and against his own +cause.</p> + +<p>“Now, look at here,” he said, slowly, “I ain't +goin' to say I don't think we ain't in a hard place, and that there's +somethin' wrong that's to blame for it, but I dunno but you go most +too far, Nahum; or, rather, I dunno as you go far enough. I dunno but +we've got to dig down past the poor and the rich, farther into the +everlastin' foundations of things to get at what's the +trouble.”</p> + +<p>Jim Tenny, standing in the parlor doorway, with an arm around +Eva's waist, broke in suddenly with a defiant laugh. “I don't +care nothin' about the everlastin' foundations of things, and I don't +care a darn about the rich and the poor,” he proclaimed. +“I'm willin' to leave that to lecturers and dynamiters, and let +'em settle it if they can. I don't grudge the rich nothin', and I +ain't goin' to call the Almighty to account for givin' somebody else +the biggest piece of pie; mebbe it would give me the stomach-ache. +All I'm concerned about is Lloyd's shut-down.”</p> + +<p>“That's so,” said Eva.</p> + +<p>“I tell you, sir, it ain't the facts of the case, but the +reason for the facts, which we must think of,” maintained Nahum +Beals.</p> + +<p>“I don't care a darn for the facts nor the reasons,” +said Jim Tenny; “all I care about is I'm out of work maybe till +spring, with my mother dependent on me, and not a cent laid up, I've +been so darned careless, and here's Eva says she won't marry me till +I get work.”</p> + +<p>“I won't,” said Eva, who was very pale, except for +burning spots on her cheeks.</p> + +<p>“She's afraid she won't get frostin' on her cake, and silk +dresses, I expect,” Jim Tenny said, and laughed, but his laugh +was very bitter.</p> + +<p>“Jim Tenny, you know better than that,” Eva cried, +sharply. “I won't stand that.”</p> + +<p>Jim Tenny, with a quick motion, unwound his arm from Eva's waist +and stripped up his sleeve. “There, look at that, will +you,” he cried out, shaking his lean, muscular arm at them; +“look at that muscle, and me tellin' her that I could earn a +livin' for her, and she afraid. I can dig if I can't make shoes. I +guess there's work in this world for them that's willin', and don't +pick and choose.”</p> + +<p>“There ain't,” declared Nahum, shortly.</p> + +<p>“You can't dig when the ground's froze hard,” Eva +said, with literal meaning.</p> + +<p>“Then I'll take a pickaxe,” cried Jim.</p> + +<p>“You can dig, but who's goin' to pay you for the +diggin'?” demanded Nahum Beals.</p> + +<p>“The idea of a girl's bein' afraid I wa'n't enough of a man +to support a wife with an arm like that,” said Jim Tenny, +“as if I couldn't dig for her, or fight for her.”</p> + +<p>“The fightin' has got to come first in order to get the +diggin', and the pay for it,” said Nahum.</p> + +<p>“Now, look at here,” Andrew Brewster broke in, +“you know I'm in as bad a box as you, and I come home to-night +feelin' as if I didn't care whether I lived or died; but if it's true +what McGrath said to-night, we've got to use common-sense in lookin' +at things even if it goes against us. If what McGrath said was true, +that Lloyd's losing money keeping on, I dunno how we can expect him +or any other man to do that.”</p> + +<p>“Why not he lose money as well as we?” demanded Nahum, +fiercely.</p> + +<p>“'Cause we 'ain't got none to lose,” cried Jim Tenny, +with a hard laugh, and Eva and Fanny echoed him hysterically.</p> + +<p>Nahum took no notice of the interruption. Tragedy, to his +comprehension, never verged on comedy. One could imagine his face of +intense melancholy and denunciation relaxed with laughter no more +than that of the stern prophet of righteous retribution whose name he +bore.</p> + +<p>“Why shouldn't Norman Lloyd lose money?” he demanded +again. “Why shouldn't he lose his fine house as well as I my +poor little home? Why shouldn't he lose his purple and fine linen as +well as Jim his chances of happiness? Why shouldn't he lose his +diamond shirt-studs, and his carriage and horses, as well as Joe his +life?”</p> + +<p>“Well, he earned his money, I suppose,” Andrew said, +slowly, “and I suppose it's for him to say what he'll do with +it.”</p> + +<p>“Earned his money? He didn't earn his money,” cried +Nahum Beals. “We earned it, every dollar of it, by the sweat of +our brows, and it's for us, not him, to say what shall be done with +it. Well, the time will come, I tell ye, the time will +come.”</p> + +<p>“We sha'n't see it,” said Joe Atkins.</p> + +<p>“It may come sooner than you think,” said Nahum. Then +Nahum Beals, with a sudden access of bitterness, broke in. +“Look at Norman Lloyd,” he cried, “havin' that +great house, and horses and carriages, and dressin' like a dude, and +his wife rustlin' in silks so you can hear her comin' a mile off, and +shinin' like a jeweller's window—look at 'em all—all the +factory bosses—livin' like princes on the money we've earned +for 'em; and look at their relations, and look at the rich folks that +ain't never earned a cent, that's had money left 'em. Go right up and +down the Main Street, here in this city. See the Lloyds and the +Maguires and the Marshalls and the Risleys and the +Lennoxes—”</p> + +<p>“There ain't none of the Lennoxes left except that one +woman,” said Andrew.</p> + +<p>“Well, look at her. There she is without chick or child, +rollin' in riches, and Norman Lloyd's her own brother-in-law. Why +don't she give him a little money to run the factory this winter, so +you and me won't have to lose everythin'?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose she's got a right to do as she pleases with her +own,” said Andrew.</p> + +<p>“I tell you she ain't,” shouted Nahum. “She +ain't the one to say, ‘It's the Lord, and He's said it.’ +Cynthia Lennox and all the women like her are the oppressors of the +poor. They are accursed in the sight of the Lord, as were those women +we read about in the Old Testament, with their mantles and +crisping-pins. Their low voices and their silk sweeps and their +shrinkin' from touchin' shoulders with their fellow-beings in a crowd +don't alter matters a mite.”</p> + +<p>“Now, Nahum,” cried Jim Tenny, with one of his sudden +turns of base when his sense of humor was touched, “you don't +mean to say that you want Cynthia Lennox to give you her +money?”</p> + +<p>“I'd die, and see her dead, before I'd touch a dollar of her +money!” cried Nahum—“before I'd touch a dollar of +her money or anything that was bought with her money, her money or +any other rich person's. I want what I earn. I don't want a gift with +a curse on it. Let her keep her fine things. She and her kind are +responsible for all the misery of the poor on the face of the +earth.”</p> + +<p>“Seems to me you're reasonin' in a circle, Nahum,” +Andrew said, good-humoredly.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Andrew, if you're on the side of the rich, why +don't you say so?” cried Eva.</p> + +<p>“He ain't,” returned Fanny—“you know +better, Eva Loud.”</p> + +<p>“No, I ain't,” declared Andrew. “You all of you +know I'm with the class I belong to; I ain't a toady to no rich +folks; I don't think no more of 'em than you do, and I don't want any +favors of 'em—all I want is pay for my honest work, and that's +an even swap, and I ain't beholden, but I want to look at things fair +and square. I don't want to be carried away because I'm out of work, +though, God knows, it's hard enough.”</p> + +<p>“I don't know what's goin' to become of us,” said +Joseph Atkins—then he coughed.</p> + +<p>“I don't,” Jim Tenny said, bitterly.</p> + +<p>“And God knows I don't,” cried Eva, and she sat down +in the nearest chair, flung up her hands before her face, and +wept.</p> + +<p>Then Fanny spoke to Ellen, who had been sitting very still and +attentive, her eyes growing larger, her cheeks redder with +excitement. Fanny had often glanced uneasily at her, and wished to +send her to bed, but she was in the habit of warming Ellen's little +chamber at the head of the stairs by leaving open the sitting-room +door for a while before she went to it, and she was afraid of cooling +the room too much for Joseph Atkins, and had not ventured to +interrupt the conversation. Now, seeing the child's fevered face, she +made up her mind. “Come, Ellen, it's your bed-time,” she +said, and Ellen rose reluctantly, and, kissing her father, she went +to her aunt Eva, who caught at her convulsively and kissed her, and +sobbed against her cheek. “Oh, oh!” she wailed, +“you precious little thing, you precious little thing, I don't +know what's goin' to become of us all.”</p> + +<p>“Don't, Eva,” said Fanny, sharply; “can't you +see she's all wrought up? She hadn't ought to have heard all this +talk.”</p> + +<p>Andrew looked anxiously at his wife, rose, and caught up Ellen in +his arms with a hug of fervent and protective love. “Don't you +worry, father's darlin',” he whispered. “Don't you worry +about anythin' you have heard. Father will always have enough to take +care of you with.”</p> + +<p>Jim Tenny, when Andrew set the child down, caught her up again +with a sounding kiss. “Don't you let your big ears ache, you +little pitcher,” said he, with a gay laugh. “Little +doll-babies like you haven't anythin' to worry about if Lloyd's shut +down every day in the year.”</p> + +<p>“They're the very ones whom it concerns,” said Nahum +Beals, when Ellen and her mother had gone up-stairs.</p> + +<p>“Well, I wouldn't have had that little nervous thing hear +all this, if I'd thought,” Andrew said, anxiously.</p> + +<p>Joseph Atkins, whom Fanny had stationed in a sheltered corner near +the stove when she opened the door, peered around at Andrew.</p> + +<p>“Seems as if she was too young to get much sense of +it,” he remarked. “My Maria, that's her age, +wouldn't.”</p> + +<p>“Ellen hears everything and makes her own sense of +it,” said Andrew, “and the Lord only knows what she's +made of this. I hope she won't fret over it.”</p> + +<p>“I wish my tongue had been cut off before I said anything +before her,” cried Eva. “I know just what that child is. +She'll find out what a hard world she's in soon enough, anyway, and I +don't want to be the one to open her eyes ahead of time.”</p> + +<p>Ellen went to bed quietly, and her mother did not think she had +paid much attention to what had been going on, and said so when she +went down-stairs after Ellen had been kissed and tucked in bed and +the lamp put out. “I guess she didn't mind much about it, after +all,” she said to Andrew. “I guess the room was pretty +warm, and that was what made her cheeks so red.”</p> + +<p>But Ellen, after her mother left her, turned her little head +towards the wall and wept softly, lest some one hear her, but none +the less bitterly that she had no right conception of the cause of +her grief. There was over her childish soul the awful shadow of the +labor and poverty of the world. She knew naught of the substance +behind the shadow, but the darkness terrified her all the more, and +she cried and cried as if her heart would break. Then she, with a +sudden resolution, born she could not have told of what strange +understanding and misunderstanding of what she had heard that +evening, slipped out of bed, groped about until she found her +cherished doll, sitting in her little chair in the corner. She was +accustomed to take the doll to bed with her, and had undressed her +for that purpose early in the evening, but she had climbed into bed +and left her sitting in the corner.</p> + +<p>“Don't you want your dolly?” her mother had asked.</p> + +<p>“No, ma'am; I guess I don't want her to-night,” Ellen +had replied, with a little break in her voice. Now, when she reached +the doll, she gathered her up in her little arms, and groped her way +with her into the closet. She hugged the doll, and kissed her wildly, +then she shook her. “You have been naughty,” she +whispered—“yes, you have, dreadful naughty. No, don't you +talk to me; you have been naughty. What right had you to be livin' +with rich folks, and wearin' such fine things, when other children +don't have anything. What right had that little boy that was your +mother before I was, and that rich lady that gave you to me? They had +ought to be put in the closet, too. God had ought to put them all in +the closet, the way I'm goin' to put you. Don't you say a word; you +needn't cry; you've been dreadful naughty.”</p> + +<p>Ellen set the doll, face to the wall, in the corner of the closet, +and left her there. Then she crept back into bed, and lay there +crying over her precious baby shivering in her thin night-gown all +alone in the dark closet. But she was firm in keeping her there, +since, with that strange, involuntary grasp of symbolism which has +always been maintained by the baby-fingers of humanity for the +satisfying of needs beyond resources and the solving of problems +outside knowledge, she had a conviction that she was, in such +fashion, righting wrong and punishing evil. But she wept over the +poor doll until she fell asleep.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter X</h3> + +<p>When Ellen woke the next morning she had a curious feeling, as if +she were blinded by the glare of many hitherto unsuspected windows +opening into the greatness outside the little world, just large +enough to contain them, in which she had dwelt all her life with her +parents, her aunt, her grandmother, and her doll. She tried to adjust +herself to her old point of view with her simple childish recognition +of the most primitive facts as a basis for dreams, but she remembered +what Mr. Atkins, who coughed so dreadfully, had said the night +before; she remembered what the young man with the bulging forehead, +who frightened her terribly, had said; she remembered the gloomy look +in her father's face, the misery in her aunt Eva's; and she +remembered her doll in the closet—and either everything was +different or had a different light upon it. In reality Ellen's +evening in the sound and sight of that current of rebellion against +the odds of life which has taken the poor off their foot hold of +understanding since the beginning of the world had aged her. She had +lost something out of her childhood. She dreaded to go down-stairs; +she had a feeling of shamefacedness struggling within her; she was +afraid that her father and mother would look at her sharply, then +look again, and ask her what the matter was, and she would not know +what to say. When she went down, and backed about for her mother to +fasten her little frock as was her wont, she was careful to keep her +face turned away; but Fanny caught her up and kissed her in her usual +way, and then her aunt Eva sung out to know if she wanted to go on a +sleigh-ride, and had she seen the snow; and then her father came in +and that look of last night had gone from his face, and Ellen was her +old self again until she was alone by herself and remembered.</p> + +<p>Fanny and Andrew and Eva had agreed to say nothing before the +child about the shutting-up of Lloyd's, and their troubles in +consequence. “She heard too much last night,” Andrew +said; “there's no use in her botherin' her little head with it. +I guess that baby won't suffer.”</p> + +<p>“She's jest the child to fret herself most to pieces +thinkin' we were awful poor, and she would starve or +somethin',” Fanny said.</p> + +<p>“Well, she sha'n't be worried if I can help it, no matter +what happens to me,” Eva said.</p> + +<p>After breakfast that morning Eva went to work on a little dress of +Ellen's. When Fanny told her not to spend her time over that, when +she had so much sewing of her own to do, Eva replied with a gay, hard +laugh, that she guessed she'd wait and finish her weddin'-fix when +she was goin' to be married.</p> + +<p>“Eva Loud, you ain't goin' to be so silly as to put off your +weddin',” Fanny cried out.</p> + +<p>“I dunno as I've put it off; I dunno as I want to get +married, anyhow,” Eva said, still laughing. “I dunno, but +I'd rather be old maid aunt to Ellen.”</p> + +<p>“Eva Loud,” cried her sister; “do you know what +you are doin'?”</p> + +<p>“Pretty well, I reckon,” said Eva.</p> + +<p>“Do you know that if you put off Jim Tenny, and he not +likin' it, ten chances to one Aggie Bemis will get hold of him +again?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Eva, “let her. I won't have been +the one to drag him into misery, anyhow.”</p> + +<p>“Well, if you can feel that way,” Fanny returned, +looking at her sister with a sort of mixed admiration and pity.</p> + +<p>“I can. I tell you what 'tis, Fanny. When I look at Jim, +handsome and head up in the air, and think how he'd look all bowed +down, hair turnin' gray, and not carin' whether he's shaved and has +on a clean shirt or not, 'cause he's got loaded down with debt, and +the grocery-man and the butcher after him, and no work, and me and +the children draggin' him down, I can bear anything. If another girl +wants to do it, she must, though I'd like to kill her when I think of +it. I can't do it, because—I think too much of him.”</p> + +<p>“He might lose his work after he was married, you +know.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I suppose we'd have to run the risk of that; but I'm +goin' to start fair or not at all.”</p> + +<p>“Well, maybe he'll get work,” Fanny said.</p> + +<p>“He won't,” said Eva. She began to sing “Nancy +Lee” over Ellen's dress.</p> + +<p>After breakfast Ellen begged a piece of old brown calico of her +mother. “Why, of course you can have it, child,” said her +mother; “but what on earth do you want it for? I was goin' to +put it in the rag-bag.”</p> + +<p>“I want to make my dolly a dress.”</p> + +<p>“Why, that ain't fit for your dolly's dress. Only think how +queer that beautiful doll would look in a dress made of that. Why, +you 'ain't thought anything but silk and satin was good enough for +her.”</p> + +<p>“I'll give you a piece of my new blue silk to make your doll +a dress,” said Eva.</p> + +<p>But Ellen persisted. When the doll came out of her closet of +vicarious penance she was arrayed like a very scullion among dolls, +in the remnant of the dress in which Fanny Brewster had done her +house-work all summer.</p> + +<p>“There,” Ellen told the doll, when her mother did not +hear “you look more like the way you ought to, and you ought to +be happy, and not ever think you wish you had your silk dress on. +Think of all the poor children who never have any silk dresses, or +any dresses at all—nothing except their cloth bodies in the +coldest weather. You ought to be thankful to have this.” For +all which good advice and philosophy the little mother of the doll +would often look at the discarded beauty of the wardrobe, with tears +in her eyes and fondest pity in her heart; but she never flinched. +When the young man Nahum Beals came in, as he often did of an +evening, and raised his voice in fierce denunciation against the +luxury and extravagance of the rich, Ellen would listen and consider +that he would undoubtedly approve of what she had done, did he know, +and would allow that she had made her small effort towards righting +things.</p> + +<p>“Only think what Mr. Beals would say if he saw you in your +silk dress; why, I don't know but he would throw you out of the +window,” she told her doll once.</p> + +<p>Ellen did not feel any difference in her way of living after her +father was out of work. “She ain't goin' to be stented in one +single thing; remember that,” Andrew told Fanny, with angry +emphasis. “That little, delicate thing is goin' to have +everything she needs, if I spend every cent I've saved and mortgage +the place.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you'll get work before it comes to that,” Fanny +said, consolingly.</p> + +<p>“Whether I do or not, it sha'n't make any difference,” +declared Andrew. “I'm goin' to hire a horse and sleigh and take +her sleigh-ridin' this afternoon. It'll be good, and she's been +talkin' about a sleigh-ride ever since snow flew.”</p> + +<p>“She could do without that,” Fanny said, +doubtfully.</p> + +<p>“Well, she ain't goin' to.”</p> + +<p>So it happened that the very day after Lloyd's had shut down, when +every man out of employment felt poorer than he did later when he had +grown accustomed to the sensation of no money coming in, Andrew +Brewster hired a horse and double sleigh, and took Ellen, her mother, +grandmother, and aunt out sleigh-riding. Ellen sat on the back seat +of the sleigh, full of that radiant happiness felt by a child whose +pleasures have not been repeated often enough for satiety. The sleigh +slid over the blue levels of snow followed by long creaks like wakes +of sound, when the livery-stable horse shook his head proudly and set +his bells in a flurry. Ellen drew a long breath of rapture. These +unaccustomed sounds held harmonies of happiness which would echo +through her future, for no one can estimate the immortality of some +little delight of a child. In all her life, Ellen never forgot that +sleigh-ride. It was a very cold day, and the virgin snow did not melt +at all; the wind blew a soft, steady pressure from the west, and its +wings were evident from the glistening crystals which were lifted and +borne along. The trees held their shining boughs against the blue of +the sky, and burned and blazed here and there as with lamps of +diamonds. The child looked at them, and they lit her soul. Her little +face, between the swan's-down puffs of her hood, deepened in color +like a rose; her blue eyes shone; she laughed and dimpled silently; +she was in too much bliss to speak. The others kept looking at her, +then at one another. Fanny nudged her mother-in-law, behind the +child's back, and the two women exchanged glances of confidential +pride. Andrew and Eva kept glancing around at her, and asking if she +were having a good time. Eva was smartly dressed in her best hat, gay +with bows and red wings bristling as sharply as the head-dress of an +Indian chief in the old pictures. She had a red coat, and a long fur +boa wound around her throat; the clear crimson of her cheeks, her +great black eyes, and her heavy black braids were so striking that +people whom they met looked long at her. Eva talked fast to Andrew, +and laughed often and loudly.</p> + +<p>Whenever that strident laugh of hers rang out, Mrs. Zelotes +Brewster, on the seat behind, moved her be-shawled shoulders with a +shivering hunch of disgust. “Can't you tell that girl not to +laugh so loud when we're out ridin',” she said to her son that +evening; “I saw folks lookin'.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, never mind, mother,” Andrew said; “the poor +girl's got a good deal on her mind.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose you mean that Tinny feller,” said Mrs. +Zelotes, alluding to something which had happened that afternoon in +the course of the sleigh-ride.</p> + +<p>The sleighing that day was excellent, for there had been an ice +coating on the road before, and the last not very heavy snowfall had +been just enough. The Brewsters passed and met many others: young men +out with their sweethearts, whole families drawn by the sober old +horse as old as the grown-up children; rakish young men driving +stable teams, leaning forward with long circles of whip over the +horses' backs, leaving the scent of cigars behind them; and often, +too, two young ladies in dainty turnouts; and sometimes two girls or +four girls from Lloyd's, who had clubbed together and hired a sleigh, +taking reckless advantage of their enforced vacation.</p> + +<p>“There's Daisy and Hat Sears, and—and there's Nell +White and Eaat Ryoce in the team behind,” Eva said.</p> + +<p>“I should think they better be savin' their money if Lloyd's +has shut up,” said Mrs. Zelotes, severely.</p> + +<p>“We ain't savin' ours, or Andrew ain't,” Eva retorted, +with a laugh.</p> + +<p>“It's different with us,” said Mrs. Zelotes, proudly, +“though I shouldn't think it was right for Andrew to hire a +team every day.”</p> + +<p>“Sometimes I think folks might just as well have a little as +they're goin' along, for half the time they never seem to get +there,” Eva said, with another hard laugh at her own wit; and +just then she saw something which made her turn deathly white, and +catch her breath with a gasp in spite of herself, though that was +all. She held up her head like a queen and turned her handsome white +face full towards Jim Tenny and the girl for whom he had jilted her +before, as they drove past, and bowed and smiled in a fashion which +made the red flame up over the young man's swarthy cheek, and the +pretty girl at his side shrink a little and avert her tousled fair +head with a nervous giggle.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Zelotes Brewster twisted herself about and looked after them. +“There's John Tibbets and his wife in that sleigh; he's thrown +out of work as well as you, Andrew,” said Fanny, hastily. +“See that feather in her bonnet blow; it's standin' up +straight.” But Fanny's manœuvre to turn the attention of +her mother-in-law was of no avail, for nothing short of sudden death +could interpose an effectual barrier between Mrs. Zelotes Brewster's +tongue and mind set with the purpose of speech. “Was that the +Tinny fellow?” she demanded.</p> + +<p>“Yes; I guess so. I didn't notice in particular,” +Fanny replied, in a low voice. Then she added, pointing to an +advancing sleigh. “Good land, there's that Smith girl. They +said she wasn't able to ride out. Seems to me she's taken a queer day +for it.”</p> + +<p>“Was that that Tinny fellow?” Mrs. Zelotes asked +again. She leaned forward and gave Eva a hard nudge on her red-coated +elbow.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it was,” Eva answered, calmly.</p> + +<p>“Who was that girl with him?”</p> + +<p>“It was Aggie Bemis.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Zelotes gave a sniff, then she settled back, studying Eva's +back with a sort of reflective curiosity. Presently she fumbled under +the sleigh cushion for an extra shawl which she had brought, and +handed it up to Eva. “Don't you want this extra shawl?” +she asked, while Fanny stared at her wonderingly. Mrs. Zelotes's +civilities towards her sister had been few and far between.</p> + +<p>“No, thank you,” Eva replied, with a start.</p> + +<p>“Hadn't you better? It must be pretty cold sitting up there. +You must take all the wind. You can wrap this shawl all around your +face and ears, and I don't want it.”</p> + +<p>“No, thank you; I'm plenty warm,” Eva replied. She +swallowed hard, and set her mouth hard. There was something about +this kindness of her old disapprover which touched her deeply, and +moved her to weakness more than had the sight of her recreant love +with another girl. Fanny saw the little quiver pass over her sister's +face, and leaned over and whispered.</p> + +<p>“I shouldn't be a mite surprised if that girl asked Jim to +take her. It would be just like her.”</p> + +<p>“It don't make any odds whether she did or not,” +returned Eva, with no affectation of secrecy. “I don't care +which way 'twas.” She sat up straighter than ever, and some +men in a passing sleigh turned to look after her.</p> + +<p>“I s'pose she don't think my shawl looks genteel enough to +wear,” Mrs. Zelotes said to Fanny; “but she's dreadful +silly.”</p> + +<p>They drove through the main street of the city and passed Cynthia +Lennox's house. Ellen looked at it with the guilt of secrecy. She +thought she saw the lady's head at a front window, and the front door +opened and Cynthia came down the walk with a rich sweep of black +draperies, and the soft sable toss of plumes. “There's Cynthia +Lennox,” said Fanny. “She's a handsome-lookin' woman, +ain't she?”</p> + +<p>“She's most as old as Andrew, but you'd never suspect +it,” said Mrs. Zelotes. She had used to have a fancy that +Andrew and Cynthia might make a match. She had seen no reason to the +contrary, and she always looked at Cynthia with a curious sense of +injury and resentment when she thought of what might have been.</p> + +<p>As Cynthia Lennox swept down the walk to-day, the old lady said, +sharply:</p> + +<p>“I don't see why she should walk any prouder than anybody +else. I don't know why she should, if she's right-minded. The +Lennoxes wasn't any grander than the Brewsters way back, if they have +got a little more money of late years. Cynthia's grandfather, old +Squire Lennox, used to keep the store, and live in one side of it, +and her mother's father, Calvin Goodenough, kept the tavern. I dunno +as she has so much to be proud of, though she's handsome enough, and +shows her bringin' up, as folks can't that ain't had it.” +Fanny winced a little; her bringing up was a sore subject with +her.</p> + +<p>“Well, folks can't help their bringin' up,” she +retorted, sharply.</p> + +<p>“There's Lloyd's team,” Andrew said, quickly, partly +to avert the impending tongue-clash between his wife and mother.</p> + +<p>He reined his horse to one side at a respectful distance, and +Norman H. Lloyd, with his wife at his side, swept by in his fine +sleigh, streaming on the wind with black fur tails, his pair of bays +stepping high to the music of their arches of bells. The Brewsters +eyed Norman Lloyd's Russian coat with the wide sable collar turned up +around his proud, clear-cut face, the fur-gauntleted hands which held +the lines and the whip, for Mr. Lloyd preferred to drive his own +blooded pair, both from a love of horseflesh and a greater confidence +in his own guidance than in that of other people. Mr. Lloyd was no +coward, but he would have confided to no man his sensations had he +sat behind those furnaces of fiery motion with other hands than his +own upon the lines.</p> + +<p>“I should think Mis' Lloyd would be afraid to ride with such +horses,” said Mrs. Zelotes, as they leaped aside in passing; +then she bowed and smiled with eager pleasure, and yet with perfect +self-respect. She felt herself every whit as good as Mrs. Norman +Lloyd, and her handsome Paisley shawl and velvet bonnet as genteel as +the other woman's sealskins and floating plumes. Mrs. Lloyd loomed up +like a vast figure of richness enveloped in her bulky winter wraps; +her face was superb with health and enjoyment and good-humor. Her +cheeks were a deep crimson in the cold wind; she smiled radiantly all +the time as if at life itself. She had no thought of fear behind +those prancing bays which seemed so frightful to Mrs. Zelotes, used +to the steadiest stable team a few times during the year, and driven +with a wary eye to railroad crossings and a sense of one's mortality +in the midst of life strong upon her. Mrs. Norman Lloyd had never any +doubt when her husband held the lines. She would have smiled behind +ostriches and zebras. To her mind Norman Lloyd was, as it were, +impregnable to all combinations of alien strength or circumstances. +When she bowed on passing the Brewsters, she did not move her fixed +smile until she caught sight of Ellen. Then emotion broke through the +even radiance of her face. She moved her head with a flurry of nods; +she waved her hand; she even kissed it to her.</p> + +<p>“Bow to Mis' Lloyd, Ellen,” said her grandmother; and +Ellen ducked her head solemnly. She remembered what she had heard the +night before, and the sleigh swept by, Mrs. Lloyd's rosy face smiling +back over the black fringe of dancing tails. Eva had shot a swift +glance of utmost rancor at the Lloyds, then sat stiff and upright +until they passed.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn't ask Ellen to bow to that woman,” said she, +fiercely, between her teeth. “I hate the whole +tribe.”</p> + +<p>No one heard her except Andrew, and he shook the lines over the +steady stable horse, and said, “G'lang!” hoarsely.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Norman Lloyd, in the other sleigh, had turned to her husband +with somewhat timid and deprecating enthusiasm. “Ain't she a +sweet little girl?” said she.</p> + +<p>“What little girl?” Lloyd asked, abstractedly. He had +not looked at the Brewsters at all.</p> + +<p>“That little Ellen Brewster who ran away and was gone most +three days a little while ago. She was in that sleigh we just passed. +She is just the sweetest child I ever laid eyes on,” and Norman +Lloyd smiled vaguely and coldly, and cast a glance over his +sable-clad shoulders to see how far behind the team whose approaching +bells he heard might be.</p> + +<p>“I suppose her father and aunt are out of work on account of +the closing of the factory,” remarked Mrs. Lloyd, and a shadow +of reflection came over her radiant face.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I believe they worked there,” Lloyd replied, +shaking loose the reins and speeding the horses, that he might not be +overtaken. In a few minutes they reached the factory neighborhood. +There were three factories: two of them on opposite sides of the +road, humming with labor, and puffing with jets of steam at different +points; Lloyd's, beyond, was as large as both those standing hushed +with windows blank in the afternoon sunshine.</p> + +<p>“I suppose the poor men feel pretty badly at being thrown +out of work,” Mrs. Lloyd said, looking up at the windows as she +slipped past in her nest of furs.</p> + +<p>“They feel so badly that I have seen a round dozen since we +started out taking advantage of their liberty to have a sleigh-ride +with livery teams at a good round price,” Lloyd replied, with +languid emphasis. He never spoke with any force of argument to his +wife, nor indeed to any one else, in justification of his actions. +His reasons for action were in most cases self-evolved and entirely +self-regulated. He had said not a word to any one, not even to his +foreman, of his purpose to close the factory until it was quite +fixed; he had asked no advice, explained to no one the course of +reasoning which led to his doing so. Rowe was a city of strikes, but +there had never been a strike at Lloyd's because he had abandoned the +situation in every case before the clouds of rebellion were near +enough for the storm to break. When Briggs and McGuire, the rival +manufacturers at his right and left, had resorted to cut prices when +business was dull, as a refuge from closing up, Lloyd closed with no +attempt at compromise.</p> + +<p>“I suppose they need a little recreation,” Mrs. Lloyd +observed, thinking of the little girl's face peeping out between her +mother and grandmother in the sleigh they had just passed.</p> + +<p>“Their little recreation is on about the same scale for them +as my hiring a special railroad train every day in the week to go to +Boston would be for me,” returned Lloyd, setting his handsome +face ahead at the track.</p> + +<p>“It does seem dreadful foolish,” said his wife, +“when they are out of work, and maybe won't earn any more money +to support their families all winter—” Mrs. Lloyd +hesitated a minute. “I wonder,” said she, “if they +feel sort of desperate, and think they won't have enough for their +families, anyway—that is, enough to feed them, and they might +as well get a little good time out of it to remember by-and-by when +there ain't enough bread-and-butter. I dunno but we might do +something like that, if we were in their places—don't you, +Norman?”</p> + +<p>“No, I do not,” replied Lloyd; “and that is the +reason why you and I are not in their places.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lloyd put her sealskin muff before her face as they turned a +windy corner, and reflected that her husband was much wiser than she, +and that the world couldn't be regulated by women's hearts, pleasant +as it would be for the world and the women, since the final outcome +would doubtless be destruction.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Norman Lloyd was an eminent survival of the purest and +oldest-fashioned femininity, a very woman of St. Paul, except that +she did not keep silence in the sanctuary.</p> + +<p>Just after they had turned the corner they passed an outlying +grocery store much frequented as a lounging-place by idle men. There +was a row of them on the wooden platform (backed against the wall), +cold as it was, watching the sleighs pass, and two or three knots +gathered together for the purposes of confabulation. Nearly all of +them were employés of Lloyd's, and they had met at that +unseasonable hour on that bitter day, drifting together unconsciously +as towards a common nucleus of trouble, to talk over the +situation.</p> + +<p>When these men, huddled up in their shabby great-coats, with caps +pulled over shaggy brows and sullenly flashing eyes, saw the Lloyds +approaching, the rumble of conversation suddenly ceased. They all +stood staring when their employer passed. Only one man, Nahum Beals, +looked fairly at Lloyd's face with a denouncing flash of eyes.</p> + +<p>To this man Lloyd, recognizing him and some of the others as his +employés, bowed. Nahum Beals stood glaring at him in accusing +silence, and his head was as immovable as if carved in stone. The +other men, with their averted eyes, made a curious, motionless +tableau of futile and dumb resistance to power which might have been +carved with truth on the face of the rock from the beginning of the +earth.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XI</h3> + +<p>The closing of Lloyd's marked, in some inscrutable way, the close +of the first period of Ellen Brewster's childhood. Looking back in +later years, she always felt her retrospective thought strike a +barrier there, beyond which her images of the past were confused. Yet +it was difficult to tell why it was so, for after the first the child +could, it seemed, have realized no difference in her life. Now and +then she heard some of that conversation characterized at once by the +confidence of wrong and injustice, and the logical doubt of it, by +solid reasoning which, if followed far enough, refuted itself, by +keen and unanswerable argument, and the wildest and most futile +enthusiasm. But she had gained nothing except the conviction of the +great wrongs of the poor of this earth and the awful tyranny of the +rich, of the everlasting moaning of Lazarus at the gates and the cry +for water later on from the depths of the rich man's hell. Somehow +that last never comforted Ellen; she had no conception of the joy of +the injured party over righteous retribution. She pitied the rich man +and Lazarus impartially, yet all the time a spirit of fierce +partisanship with these poor men was strengthening with her growth, +their eloquence over their wrongs stirred her soul, and set her feet +outside her childhood. Still, as before said, there was no tangible +difference in her daily life. The little petted treasure of the +Brewsters had all her small luxuries, sweets, and cushions of life, +as well after as before the closing of Lloyd's. And the preparations +for her aunt's wedding went on also. The sight of her lover +sleigh-riding with her rival that afternoon had been too much for the +resolution of Eva Loud's undisciplined nature. She had herself gone +to Jim Tenny's house that evening, and called him to account, to +learn that he had seriously taken her resolution not to marry at +present to proceed from a fear that he would not provide properly for +her, and that he had in this state of indignation been easily led by +the sight of Aggie Bemis's pretty face in her front door, as he drove +by, to stop. She had told Jim that she would marry him as she had +agreed if he looked at matters in that way, and had passed Aggie +Bemis's window leaning on Jim's arm with a side stare of triumph.</p> + +<p>“Be you goin' to get married next month after what you said +this mornin'?” her sister asked, half joyfully, half +anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I be,” was all Eva replied, and Fanny stared at +her; she was so purely normal in her inconsistency as to seem almost +the other thing.</p> + +<p>The preparations for the wedding went on, but Eva never seemed as +happy as she had done before the closing of Lloyd's. Jim Tenny could +get no more work, and neither could Andrew.</p> + +<p>Fanny lamented that the shop had closed at that time of year, for +she had planned a Christmas tree of unprecedented splendor for Ellen, +but Mrs. Zelotes was to be depended upon as usual, and Andrew told +his wife to make no difference. “That little thing ain't goin' +to be cheated nohow,” he said one night after Ellen had gone to +bed and his visiting companions of the cutting-room had happened +in.</p> + +<p>“I know my children won't get much,” Joseph Atkins +said, coughing as he spoke; “they wouldn't if Lloyd's hadn't +shut down. I never see the time when I could afford to make any +account of Christmas, much as ever I could manage a turkey +Thanksgiving day.”</p> + +<p>“The poor that the Lord died for can't afford to keep his +birthday; it is the rich that he's going to cast into outer darkness, +that keep it for their own ends, and it's a blasphemy and a +mockery,” proclaimed Nahum Beals. He was very excited that +night, and would often spring to his feet and stride across the room. +There was another man there that night, a cousin of Joseph Atkins, +John Sargent by name. He had recently moved to Rowe, since he had +obtained work at McGuire's, “had accepted a position in the +finishing-room of Mr. H. S. McGuire's factory in the city of +Rowe,” as the item in the local paper put it. He was a young +man, younger than his cousin, but he looked older. He had a handsome +face, under the most complete control as to its muscles. When he +laughed he gave the impression of the fixedness of merriment of a +mask. He looked keenly at Nahum Beals with that immovable laugh on +his face, and spoke with perfectly good-natured sarcasm. “All +very well for the string-pieces of the bridge from oppression to +freedom,” he said, “but you need some common-sense for +the ties, or you'll slump.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“We ain't in the Old Testament, but the nineteenth century, +and those old prophets, if they were alive to-day, would have to step +down out of their flaming chariots and hang their mantles on the +bushes, and instead of standing on mountain-tops and tellin' their +enemies what rats they were, and how they would get what they +deserved later on, they would have to tell their enemies what they +wanted them to do to better matters, and make them do it.”</p> + +<p>“Instead of standing by your own strike in Greenboro, you +quit and come here to work in McGuire's the minute you got a +chance,” said Nahum Beals, sullenly, and Sargent responded, +with his unrelaxing laugh, “I left enough strikers for the +situation in Greenboro; don't you worry about me.”</p> + +<p>“I think he done quite right to quit the strike if he got a +chance to work,” Joseph Atkins interposed. “Folks have +got to look out for themselves, labor reform or no labor +reform.”</p> + +<p>“That's the corner-stone of labor reform, seems to +me,” said Andrew.</p> + +<p>“Seems to me sometimes you talk like a damned scab,” +cried Nahum Beals, fiercely, red spots flickering in his thin cheeks. +Andrew looked at him, and spoke with slow wrath. “Look here, +Nahum Beals,” he said, “you're in my house, but I ain't +goin' to stand no such talk as that, I can tell you.”</p> + +<p>John Sargent laid a pacifically detaining hand on Nahum Beals's +arm as he strode past him. “Oh, Lord, stop rampagin' up and +down like a wildcat,” he said. “What good do you think +you're doin' tearin' and shoutin' and insultin' people? He ain't +talkin' like a scab, he's only talkin' a tie to your +string-piece.”</p> + +<p>“That's so,” said Joseph Atkins. Sargent boarded with +him, and the board money was a godsend to him, now he was out of +work. John Sargent had fixed his own price, and it was an unheard-of +one for such simple fare as he had. His weekly dollars kept the whole +poor family in food. But John Sargent was a bachelor, and earning +remarkably good wages, and Joseph Atkins's ailing wife, whom illness +and privation had made unnaturally grasping and ungrateful, told her +cronies that it wasn't as if he couldn't afford it.</p> + +<p>Up-stairs little Ellen lay in her bed, her doll in her arms, +listening to the low rumble of masculine voices in the room below. +Her mother had gone out, and there were only the men there. They were +smoking, and the odor of their pipes floated up into Ellen's chamber +through the door-cracks. She thought how her grandmother Brewster +would sniff when she came in next day. She could hear her saying, +“Well, for my part, if those men couldn't smoke their old pipes +somewhere else besides in my sittin'-room, I wouldn't have 'em in the +house.” But that reflection did not trouble Ellen very long, +and she had never been disturbed herself by the odor of the pipes. +She thought of them insensibly as the usual atmosphere when men were +gathered together in any place except the church. She knew that they +were talking about that old trouble, and Nahum Beals's voice of high +wrath made her shrink; but, after all, she was removed from it all +that night into a little prospective paradise of her own, which, as +is the case in childhood, seemed to overgild her own future and all +the troubles of the world. Christmas was only a week distant, she was +to have a tree, and the very next evening her mother had promised to +take her down-town and show her the beautiful, lighted Christmas +shops. She wondered, listening to that rumble of discontent below, +why grown-up men and women ever fretted when they were at liberty to +go down-town every evening when they chose and look at the lighted +shops, for she could still picture pure delight for others without +envy or bitterness.</p> + +<p>The next day the child was radiant; she danced rather than walked; +she could not speak without a smile; she could eat nothing, for her +happiness was so purely spiritual that desires of the flesh were in +abeyance. Her heart beat fast; the constantly recurring memory of +what was about to happen fairly overwhelmed her as with waves of +delight.</p> + +<p>“If you don't eat your supper you can't go, and that's all +there is about it,” her mother told her when they were seated +at the table, and Ellen sat dreaming before her toast and peach +preserve.</p> + +<p>“You must eat your supper, Ellen,” Andrew said, +anxiously. Andrew had on his other coat, and he had shaved, and was +going too, as was Mrs. Zelotes Brewster.</p> + +<p>“She 'ain't eat a thing all day, she's so excited about +goin',” Fanny said. “Now, Ellen, you must eat your +supper, or you can't go—you'll be sick.”</p> + +<p>And Ellen ate her supper, though exceeding joy as well as +exceeding woe can make food lose its savor, and toast and preserves +were as ashes on her tongue when the very fragrance of coming +happiness was in her soul.</p> + +<p>When, finally, in hand of her mother, while Andrew walked behind +with her grandmother, she went towards the lights of the town, she +had a feeling as of wings on her feet. However, she walked soberly +enough with wide eyes of amazement and delight at +everything—the long, silver track of the snowy road under the +light of the full moon, the slants of the house roofs sparkling with +crusts of crystals, the lighted windows set with house plants, for +the dwellers in the outskirts of Rowe loved house plants, and their +front windows bloomed with the emulative splendor of geraniums from +fall to spring. She saw behind them glimpses of lives and some doings +as real as her own, but mysterious under the locks of other +personalities, and therefore as full of possibilities of preciousness +as the sheet of morning dew over a neighbor's yard; she had often +believed she saw diamonds sparkle in that, though never in her own. +She had proved it otherwise too often. So Ellen, seeing through a +window a little girl of her own age in a red frock, straightway +believed it to be satin of the richest quality, and, seeing through +another window a tea-table spread, had no doubt that the tin teapot +was silver. A girl with a crown of yellow braids pulled down a +curtain, and she thought her as beautiful as an angel; but of all +this she said nothing at all, only walked soberly on, holding fast to +her mother's hand.</p> + +<p>When they were half-way to the shops, a door of a white house +close to the road flew open and shut again with a bang, there was a +scurry and grating slide on the front walk, then the gate was thrown +back, and a boy dashed through with a wild whoop, just escaping +contact with Mrs. Zelotes Brewster. “You'd better be +careful,” said she, sharply. “It ain't the thing for boys +to come tearin' out of yards in the evenin' without seein' where they +are goin'.”</p> + +<p>The boy cast an abashed glance at her. The street-lamp shone full +on his face, which was round and reddened by the frosty winds, with +an aimlessly grinning mouth of uncertain youth, and black eyes with a +bold and cheerful outlook on the unknown. He was only ten, but he was +large for his age. Ellen, when he looked from her grandmother back at +her, thought him almost a man, and then she saw that he was the boy +who had brought the chestnuts to her the night when she had returned +from her runaway excursion. The boy recognized her at the same +moment, and his mouth seemed to gape wider, and a moist red +overspread his face down to his swathing woollen scarf. Then he gave +another whoop significant of the extreme of nervous abashedness and +the incipient defiance of his masculine estate, there was a flourish +of heels, followed by a swift glimmering slide of steel, and he was +off trailing his sled.</p> + +<p>“That's that Joy boy that brought Ellen the chestnuts that +time,” Fanny said. “Do you remember him, +Ellen?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma'am,” replied Ellen. The look of the boy in +her face had bewildered and confused her, without her knowing the why +of it. It was as if she had spelled a word in her reading-book whose +meaning she could not grasp.</p> + +<p>“I don't care who he is,” said Mrs. Zelotes, “he +'ain't no business racin' out of gates that way, and his folks hadn't +ought to let a boy no older than that out alone of nights.”</p> + +<p>They kept on, and the boy apparently left them far behind in his +career of youthful exuberance, until they came to the factories. +Andrew looked up at the windows of Lloyd's, dark except for a faint +glimmer in a basement window from the lamp of the solitary watchman, +and drew a heavy sigh.</p> + +<p>“It ain't as bad for you as it is for some,” his +mother said, sharply, and then she jumped aside, catching her son's +arm as the boy sprang out of a covering shadow under the wall of +Lloyd's and dashed before them with another wild whoop and another +glance of defiant bashfulness at Ellen.</p> + +<p>“My land! it's that boy again,” cried Mrs. Zelotes. +“Here, you boy!—boy! What's your name?”</p> + +<p>“His name is Granville Joy,” Ellen replied, +unexpectedly.</p> + +<p>“Why, how did you know, child?” her grandmother asked. +“Seems to me he's got a highfalutin' name enough. Here you, +Granville—if that's your name—don't you know any better +than to—” But the boy was gone, his sled creaking on the +hard snow at his heels, and a faint whoop sounded from the +distance.</p> + +<p>“I guess if I had the bringin' up of that boy there wouldn't +be such doin's,” said Mrs. Zelotes, severely. “His +mother's a pretty woman, but I don't believe she's got much force. +She wouldn't have given him such a name if she had.”</p> + +<p>“She named him after the town she came from,” said +Fanny. “She told me once. She's a real smart woman, and she +makes that boy stand around.”</p> + +<p>“She must; it looks as if he was standin' round pretty +lively jest now,” said Mrs. Zelotes. “Namin' of a boy +after a town! They'd better wait and name a town after the boy if he +amounts to anything.”</p> + +<p>“His mother told me he was goin' into the first +grammar-school next year,” said Fanny.</p> + +<p>“I pity the teacher,” said Mrs. Zelotes, and then she +recoiled, for the boy made another dart from behind a lamp-post, +crossed their path, and was off again.</p> + +<p>“My land!” gasped Mrs. Zelotes, “you speak to +him, Andrew.” But Andrew laughed. “Might as well speak +to a whirlwind,” said he. “He ain't doin' any harm, +mother; it's only his boyish antics. For Heaven's sake, let him enjoy +himself while he can, it won't be long before the grind-mill in there +will get hold of him, and then he'll be sober enough to suit +anybody,” and Andrew pointed at Lloyd's as he spoke.</p> + +<p>“Boys can be boys,” said Mrs. Zelotes, severely, +“and they can have a good time, but they can behave +themselves.”</p> + +<p>None of them looking after that flying and whooping figure ahead +had the slightest idea of the true situation. They did not know that +the boy was confused by the fires, none the less ardent that they +were so innocent, of a first love for Ellen; that, ever since he had +seen her little, fair face on her aunt's shoulder the day when she +was found, it had been even closer to his heart than his sled and his +jackstones and his ball, and his hope of pudding for dinner. They did +not know that he had toiled at the wood-pile of a Saturday, and run +errands after school, to earn money to buy Christmas presents for his +mother and Ellen; that he had at that very minute in his purse in the +bottom of his pocket the sum of eighty-nine cents, mostly in coppers, +since his wage was generally payable in that coin, and his pocket +sagged arduously therefrom. They did not know that he was even then +bound upon an errand to the grocery store for a bag of flour to be +brought home on his sled, and would thereby swell his exchequer by +another cent. They did not know what dawning chords of love, and +knowledge of love, that wild whoop expressed; and the boy dodged and +darted and hid, and appeared before them all the way to the busy main +street of Rowe; and, after they had entered the great store where the +finest Christmas display was held, he stood before the window staring +at Ellen vanishing in a brilliant vista, and whooped now and then, +regardless of public opinion.</p> + +<p>Ellen, when once she was inside the store, forgot everything else. +She clung more tightly to her mother's hand, as one will cling to any +wonted stay of love in the midst of strangeness, even of joy, and she +saw everything with eyes which photographed it upon her very soul. At +first she had an impression of a dazzling incoherence of splendor, of +a blare as of thousands of musical instruments all sounding different +notes of delight, of a weaving pattern of colors, too intricate to +master, of a mingled odor of paint and varnish, and pine and hemlock +boughs, and then she spelled out the letters of the details. She +looked at those counters set with the miniature paraphernalia of +household life which give the first sweet taste of domesticity and +housekeeping joys to a little girl.</p> + +<p>There were the sets of dolls' furniture, and the dolls, dishes, +and there was a counter with dolls' cooking-stoves and ranges +bristling with the most delightful realism of pots and pans, at which +she gazed so fixedly and breathlessly that she looked almost stupid. +Her elders watched half in delight, half with pain, that they could +not purchase everything at which she looked. Mrs. Zelotes bought some +things surreptitiously, hiding the parcels under her shawl. Andrew, +whispering to a salesman, asked the price of a great cooking-stove at +which Ellen looked long. When he heard the amount he sighed. Fanny +touched his arm comfortingly. “There would be no sense in your +buying that, if you had all the money in creation,” she said, +in a hushed voice. “There's a twenty-five-cent one that's good +enough. I'm going to buy that for her to-morrow. She'll never know +the difference.” But Andrew Brewster, nevertheless, went +through the great, dazzling shop with his heart full of bitterness. +It seemed to him monstrous and incredible that he had a child as +beautiful and altogether wonderful as that, and could not buy the +whole stock for her if she wanted it. He had never in his whole life +wanted anything for himself that he could not have, enough to give +him pain, but he wanted for his child with a longing that was a +passion. Her little desires seemed to him the most important and +sacred needs in the whole world. He watched her with pity and +admiration, and shame at his own impotence of love to give her +all.</p> + +<p>But Ellen knew nothing of it. She was radiant. She never thought +of wanting all those treasures further than she already had them. She +gazed at the wonders in that department where the toy animals were +kept, and which resembled a miniature menagerie, the silence broken +by the mooing of cows, the braying of donkeys, the whistle of +canaries, and the roars of mock-lions when their powers were invoked +by the attendants, and her ears drank in that discordant bable of +tiny mimicry like music. There was no spirit of criticism in her. She +was utterly pleased with everything.</p> + +<p>When her grandmother held up a toy-horse and said the fore-legs +were too long, Ellen wondered what she meant. To her mind it was more +like a horse than any real one she had ever seen.</p> + +<p>As she gazed at the decorations, the wreaths, the gauze, the +tinsel, and paper angels, suspended by invisible wires over the +counters, and all glittering and shining and twinkling with light, a +strong whiff of evergreen fragrance came to her, and the aroma of +fir-balsam, and it was to her the very breath of all the mysterious +joy and hitherto untasted festivity of this earth into which she had +come. She felt deep in her childish soul the sense of a promise of +happiness in the future, of which this was a foretaste. When she went +into the department where the dolls dwelt, she fairly turned pale. +They swung, and sat, and lay, and stood, as in angelic ranks, all +smiling between shining fluffs of hair. It was a chorus of smiles, +and made the child's heart fairly leap. She felt as if all the dolls +were smiling at her. She clung fast to her mother's hand, and hid her +face against her skirt.</p> + +<p>“Why, what is the matter, Ellen?” Fanny asked. Ellen +looked up, and smiled timidly and confusedly, then at the dazzle of +waxen faces and golden locks above skirts of delicate pink and blue +and white, like flower petals.</p> + +<p>“You never saw so many dolls together before, did you, +Ellen?” said Andrew; then he added, wistfully, “There +ain't one of 'em any bigger and prettier than your own doll, be they, +Ellen?” And that, although he had never recovered from his +uneasiness about that mysterious doll.</p> + +<p>Ellen had not seen Cynthia Lennox since that morning several weeks +ago when she had run away from her, except one glimpse when she was +sleigh-riding. Now all at once, when they had stopped to look at some +wonderful doll-houses, she saw her face to face. Ellen had been +gazing with rapture at a great doll-house completely furnished, and +Andrew had made one of his miserable side inquiries as to its price, +and Fanny had said, quite loud, “Lord, Andrew, you might just +as well ask the price of the store! You know such a thing as that is +out of the question for any child unless her father is rich as Norman +Lloyd,” and Ellen, who had not noticed what they were saying, +looked up, when a faint breath of violets smote her sense with a +quick memory, and there was the strange lady who had taken her into +her house and kept her and given her the doll, the strange lady whom +the gentleman said might be punished for keeping her if people were +to know.</p> + +<p>Cynthia Lennox went pale when, without knowing what was going to +happen, she looked down and saw suddenly the child's innocent face +looking into hers. She stood wavering in her trailing, fur-lined, and +softly whispering draperies, so marked and set aside by her grace and +elegance and countenance of superiority and proud calm that people +turned to look after her more than after many a young beauty, and did +not, for a second, know what to say or do. She had no mind to shrink +from a recognition of the child; she had no fear of the result, but +there was a distinct shrinking at a scene with that flashing-eyed and +heavy-browed mother of the child in such a place as that. She would +undoubtedly speak very loud. She expected the volley of recrimination +in a high treble which would follow the announcement in that sweet +little flute which she remembered so well.</p> + +<p>“Mamma, that is the lady who kept me, and would not let me +go home.”</p> + +<p>But Ellen, after a second's innocent and startled regard, turned +away with no more recognition than if she had been a stranger. She +turned her little back to her, and looked at the doll-house. A great +flush flamed over Cynthia Lennox's face, and a qualm of mortal shame. +She took an impetuous glide forward, and was just about to speak and +tell the truth, whatever the consequences, and not be outdone in +magnanimity by that child, when a young girl with a sickly but +impudent and pretty face jostled her rudely. The utter pertness of +her ignorant youth knew no respect for even the rich Miss Cynthia +Lennox. “Here's your parcel, lady,” she said, in her +rough young voice, its shrillness modified by hoarseness from too +much shouting for cash boys during this busy season, and she thrust, +with her absent eyes upon a gentleman coming towards her, a parcel +into Cynthia's hands. Somehow the touch of that parcel seemed to +bring Cynthia to her senses. It was a kodak which she had been +purchasing for the little boy who had lived with her, and whom it had +almost broken her heart to lose. She remembered what her friend Lyman +Risley had said, that it might make trouble for others besides +herself. She took her parcel with that involuntary meekness which the +proudest learn before the matchless audacity of youthful ignorance +when it fairly asserts itself, and passed out of the store to her +waiting carriage. Ellen saw her.</p> + +<p>“That was Cynthia Lennox, wasn't it?” Fanny said, with +something like awe. “Wasn't that an elegant cloak she had on? I +guess it was Russian sable.”</p> + +<p>“I don't care if it was, it ain't a mite handsomer than my +cape lined with squirrel,” said Mrs. Zelotes.</p> + +<p>Ellen looked intently at a game on the counter. It was ten o'clock +when Ellen went home. She had been into all the principal stores +which were decorated for Christmas. Her brain resembled a +kaleidoscope as she hurried along at her mother's hand. Every thought +seemed to whirl the disk, and new and more dazzling combinations +appeared, but the principle which underlay the whole was that of the +mystery of festivity and joy upon the face of the earth, of which +this Christmas wealth was the key.</p> + +<p>The Brewsters had scarcely reached the factory neighborhood when +there was a swift bound ahead of them and the familiar whoop.</p> + +<p>“There's that boy again,” said Mrs. Zelotes.</p> + +<p>She made various remonstrances, and even Andrew, when the boy had +passed his own home in his persistent dogging of them, called out to +him, as did Fanny, but he was too far ahead to hear. The boy followed +them quite to their gate, proceeding with wild spurts and dashes from +shadow to shadow, and at last reappeared from behind one of the +evergreen trees in the west yard, springing out of its long shadow +with strange effect. He darted close to Ellen as she passed in the +gate, crammed something into her hand, and was gone. Andrew could not +catch him, though he ran after him. “He ran like a +rabbit,” he said, coming breathlessly into the house, where +they were looking at the treasure the boy had thrust upon Ellen. It +was a marvel of a patent top, which the boy had long desired to own. +He had spent all his money on it, and his mother was cheated of her +Christmas present, but he had given, and Ellen had received, her +first token of love.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XII</h3> + +<p>The next spring Ellen went to school. When a child who has reigned +in undisputed sovereignty at home is thrust among other children at +school, one of two things happens: either she is scorned and rebelled +against, and her little crown of superiority rolled in the dust of +the common playground, or she extends the territories of her empire. +Ellen extended hers, though involuntarily, for there was no conscious +thirst for power in her.</p> + +<p>On her first morning at school, she seated herself at her desk and +looked forth from the golden cloud of her curls, her eyes full of +innocent contemplation, her mouth corners gravely drooping. She knew +one little girl who sat not far from her. The little girl's name was +Floretta Vining. Floretta was built on the scale of a fairy, with +tiny, fine, waxen features, a little tossing mane of flaxen hair, +eyes a most lovely and perfect blue, with no more depth in them than +in the blue of china, and an expression of the sweetest and most +innocent inanity and irresponsibility. Nobody ever expected anything +of this little Floretta Vining. She was always a negative success. +She smiled around from the foot of her curving class, and never had +her lessons, but she never disobeyed the rules, except that of +punctuality.</p> + +<p>Floretta was late at school. She came daintily up the aisle, two +cheap bangles on one wrist slipping over a slim hand, and tinkling. +Floretta's mother had a taste for the cheaply decorative. There was +an abundance of coarse lace on Floretta's frock, and she wore a +superfluous sash which was not too fresh. Floretta toed out +excessively, her slender little feet pointing out sharply, almost at +right angles with each other, and Ellen admired her for that. She +watched her coming, planting each foot as carefully and precisely as +a bird, her lace frills flouncing up and down, her bangles jingling, +and thought how very pretty she was.</p> + +<p>Ellen felt herself very loving towards the teacher and Floretta +Vining. Floretta leaned forward as soon as she was seated and gazed +at her with astonishment, and that deepening of amiability and +general sweetness which one can imagine in the face of a doll after +persistent scrutiny. Ellen smiled decorously, for she was not sure +how much smiling was permissible in school. When she smiled guardedly +at Floretta, she was conscious of another face regarding her, twisted +slightly over a shabby little shoulder covered with an ignominious +blue stuff, spotted and faded. This little girl's wisp of brown braid +was tied with a shoe-string, and she looked poorer than any other +child in the school, but she had an honest light in her eyes, and +Ellen considered her to be rather more beautiful than Floretta.</p> + +<p>She was Maria Atkins, Joseph Atkins's second child. Ellen sat with +her book before her, and the strange, new atmosphere of the +school-room stole over her senses. It was not altogether pleasant, +although it was considered that the ventilation was after the most +approved modern system. She perceived a strong odor of peppermints, +and Floretta Vining was waving ostentatiously a coarse little +pocket-handkerchief scented with New-mown Hay. There was also a +strong effusion of stale dinners and storm-beaten woollen garments, +but there was, after all, that savor of festivity which Ellen was apt +to discover in the new. She looked over her book with utter content. +In a line with her, on the boys' side, there appeared a covertly +peeping face under a thatch of light hair, and Ellen, influenced +insensibly by the boy's shyly worshipful eyes, looked and saw +Granville Joy. She remembered the Christmas top, and blushed very +pink without knowing why, and flirted all her curls towards the boys' +side.</p> + +<p>Ellen, from having so little acquaintance with boys, had had no +very well-defined sentiments towards them, but now, on being set +apart with her feminine element, and separated so definitely by the +middle aisle of the school-room, she began to experience sensations +both of shyness and exclusiveness. She did not think the boys, in +their coarse clothes, with their cropped heads, half as pretty as the +girls.</p> + +<p>The teacher coming down the aisle laid a caressing hand on Ellen's +curls, and the child looked up at her with that confidence which is +exquisite flattery.</p> + +<p>After she had passed, Ellen heard a subtle whisper somewhere at +her back; it was half audible, but its meaning was entirely plain. It +signified utmost scorn and satirical contempt. It was fine-pointed +and far-reaching. A number looked around. It was as expressive as a +whole sentence, and, being as concentrated, was fairly explosive with +meaning.</p> + +<p>“H'm, ain't you pretty? Ain't you dreadful pretty, little +dolly-pinky-rosy. H'm, teacher's partial. Ain't you pretty? Ain't you +stuck up? H'm.”</p> + +<p>Ellen, not being used to the school vernacular, did not fairly +apprehend all this, and least of all that it was directed towards +herself. She cast a startled look around, then turned to her book. +She leaned back in her seat and held her book before her face with +both hands, and began to read, spelling out the words noiselessly. +All at once, she felt a fine prick on her head, and threw back one +hand and turned quickly. The little girl behind was engrossed in +study, and all Ellen could see was the parting in her thick black +hair, for her head was supported by her two hands, her elbows were +resting on her desk, and she was whispering the boundaries of the +State of Massachusetts.</p> + +<p>Ellen turned back to her reading-book, and recommenced studying +with the painful faithfulness of the new student; then came again +that small, fine, exasperating prick, and she thrust her face around +quickly to see that same faithfully intent little girl.</p> + +<p>Ellen rubbed her head doubtfully, and tried to fix her attention +again upon her book, but presently it came again; a prick so small +and fine that it strained consciousness; an infinitesimal point of +torture, and this time Ellen, turning with a swift flirt of her head, +caught the culprit. It was that faithful little girl, who held a +black-headed belt-pin in her hand; she had been carefully separating +one hair at a time from Ellen's golden curls, and tweaking it +out.</p> + +<p>Ellen looked at her with a singular expression compounded of +bewilderment, of injury, of resentment, of alarm, and of a readiness +to accept it all as a somewhat peculiar advance towards +good-fellowship and a merry understanding. But the expression on that +dark, somewhat grimy little face, looking out at her from a jungle of +coarse, black locks, was fairly impish, almost malicious. There was +not merriment in it so much as jibing; instead of that soft regard +and worshipful admiration which Ellen was accustomed to find in new +eyes, there was resentful envy.</p> + +<p>Then Ellen shrank, and bristled with defiance at the same time, +for she had the spirit of both the Brewsters and the Louds in her, in +spite of her delicacy of organization. She was a fine instrument, +capable of chords of tragedy as well as angelic strains. She saw that +the little girl who was treating her so was dressed very poorly, that +her dress was not only shabby, but actually dirty; that she, as well +as the other girl whom she noticed, had her braid tied with an old +shoe-string, and that a curious smell of leather pervaded her. Ellen +continued to regard the little girl, then suddenly she felt a hand on +her shoulder, and the teacher, Miss Rebecca Mitchell, was looking +down at her. “What is the trouble?” asked Miss Mitchell. +That look of half-wondering admiration to which Ellen was accustomed +was in the teacher's eyes, and Ellen again thought her beautiful.</p> + +<p>One of the first, though a scarcely acknowledged principle of +beauty, is that of reflection of the fairness of the observer. Ellen +being as innocently self-seeking for love and admiration as any young +thing for its natural sustenance, was quick to recognize it, though +she did not understand that what she saw was herself in the teacher's +eyes, and not the teacher. She gazed up in that roseate face with the +wide mouth set in an inverted bow of smile, curtained, as it were, +with smoothly crinkled auburn hair clearly outlined against the +cheeks, at the palpitating curve of shiny black-silk bosom, adorned +with a festoon of heavy gold watch-chain, and thought that here was +love, and beauty, and richness, and elegance, and great wisdom, +calling for reverence but no fear. She answered not one word to the +teacher's question, but continued to gaze at her with that look of +wide-eyed and contemplative regard.</p> + +<p>“What is the trouble, Ellen?” repeated Miss Mitchell. +“Why were you looking around so?” Ellen said nothing. +The little girl behind had her head bent over her book so low that +the sulky curves of her mouth did not show. The teacher turned to +her—“Abby Atkins,” said she, “what were you +doing?”</p> + +<p>Abby Atkins did not raise her studious head. She did not seem to +hear.</p> + +<p>“Abby Atkins,” said the teacher, sharply, +“answer me. What were you doing?” Then the little girl +answered, with a sulky note, half growl, half whimper, like some +helpless but indomitable little trapped animal, +“Nothin'.”</p> + +<p>“Ellen,” said the teacher, and her voice changed +indescribably. “What was she doing?” Ellen did not +answer. She looked up in the teacher's face, then cast down her eyes +and sat there, her little hands folded in tightly clinched fists in +her lap, her mouth a pink line of resistance. “Ellen,” +repeated the teacher, and she tried to make her voice sharp, but in +spite of herself it was caressing. Her heart had gone out to the +child the moment she had seen her enter the school-room. She was as +helpless before her as before a lover. She was wild to catch her up +and caress her instead of pestering her with questions. “Ellen, +you must answer me,” she said, but Ellen sat still.</p> + +<p>Half the scholars were on their feet, reaching and craning their +necks. The teacher turned on them, and there was no lack of sharpness +in her tone. “Sit down this moment, every one of you,” +she called. “Abby Atkins, if there is any more disturbance, I +shall know what is at the root of the matter. If I see you turning +around again, Ellen, I shall insist upon knowing why.” Then +the teacher placed a caressing hand upon Ellen's yellow head, and +passed down the aisle to her desk.</p> + +<p>Ellen had no more trouble during the session. Abby Atkins was +commendably quiet and studious, and when called out to recitation +made the best one in her class. She was really brilliant in a +defiant, reluctant fashion. However, though she did not again disturb +Ellen's curls, she glowered at her with furtive but unrelaxed +hostility over her book. Especially a blue ribbon which confined +Ellen's curls in a beautiful bow fired her eyes of animosity. She +looked hard at it, then she pulled her black braid over her shoulder +and felt of the hard shoe-string knot, and frowned with an ugly frown +of envy and bitterest injury, and asked herself the world-wide and +world-old question as to the why of inequality, and, though it was +based on such trivialities as blue ribbons and shoe-strings, it was +none the less vital to her mind. She would have loved, have gloried, +to pull off that blue ribbon, put it on her own black braid, and tie +up those yellow curls with her own shoe-string with a vicious yank of +security. But all the time it was not so much because she wanted the +ribbon as because she did not wish to be slighted in the distribution +of things. Abby Atkins cared no more for personal ornament than a +wild cat, but she wanted her just allotment of the booty of the +world. So at recess she watched her chance. Ellen was surrounded by +an admiring circle of big girls, gushing with affection. “Oh, +you dear little thing,” they said. “Only look at her +beautiful curls. Give me a kiss, won't you, darling?” Little +reverent fingers twined Ellen's golden curls, red apples were thrust +forward for her to take bites, sticky morsels of candy were forced +secretly into her hands. Abby Atkins stood aloof. “You mean +little thing,” one of the big girls said suddenly, catching +hold of her thin shoulder and shaking her—“you mean +little thing, I saw you.”</p> + +<p>“So did I,” said another big girl, “and I was a +good mind to tell on you.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you had better look out, and not plague that dear +little thing,” said the other.</p> + +<p>“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” chimed in still +another big girl. “Only look how pretty she is, the little +darling—the idea of your tormenting her. You deserve a good, +hard whipping, Abby Atkins.”</p> + +<p>This big girl was herself a beauty and wore a fine and precise +blue-ribbon bow, and Abby Atkins looked at her with a scowl of +hatred.</p> + +<p>“She's an ugly little thing,” said the big girls among +themselves as they went edging gently and imperceptibly away towards +a knot of big boys, and then Abby Atkins's chance had come. She +advanced with a spring upon Ellen Brewster, and she pulled that blue +ribbon off her head so cruelly and fiercely that she pulled out some +of the golden hairs with it and threw it on the ground, and stamped +on it. Then she seized Ellen by the shoulders and proceeded to shake +her for wearing a blue ribbon when she herself wore a shoe-string, +but she reckoned without Ellen. One would as soon have expected to +meet fight in a little child angel as in this Ellen Brewster, but she +did not come of her ancestors for nothing.</p> + +<p>Although she was so daintily built that she looked smaller, she +was in reality larger than the other girl, and as she straightened +herself in her wrath she seemed a head taller and proportionately +broad. She tossed her yellow head, and her face took on an expression +of noble courage and indignation, but she never said a word. She +simply took Abby Atkins by the arms and lifted her off her feet and +seated her on the ground. Then she picked up her blue ribbon, and +walked off, and Abby scrambled to her feet and looked after her with +a vanquished but untamed air. Nobody had seen what happened except +Abby's younger sister Maria and Granville Joy. Granville pressed +stealthily close to Ellen as she marched away and whispered, his face +blazing, his voice full of confidence and congratulation, “Say, +if she'd been a boy, I'd licked her for you, and you wouldn't hev had +to tech her yourself;” and Maria walked up and eyes her +prostrate but defiantly glaring sister—“I ain't sorry one +mite, Abby Atkins,” she declared—“so +there.”</p> + +<p>“You go 'long,” returned Abby, struggling to her feet, +and shaking her small skirts energetically.</p> + +<p>“Your dress is jest as wet as if you'd set down in a puddle, +and you'll catch it when you get home,” Maria said, +pitilessly.</p> + +<p>“I ain't afraid.”</p> + +<p>“What made you touch her, anyhow; she hadn't done +nothin'?”</p> + +<p>“If you want to wear shoe-strings when other folks wear +ribbons, you can,” said Abby Atkins. She walked away, +switching, with unabated dignity in the midst of defeat, the draggled +tail of her poor little dress. She had gone down like a cat; she was +not in the least hurt except in her sense of justice; that was jarred +to a still greater lack of equilibrium. She felt as if she had been +floored by Providence in conjunction with a blue bow, and her very +soul rose in futile rebellion. But, curiously enough, her personal +ire against Ellen vanished.</p> + +<p>At the afternoon recess she gave Ellen the sound half of an old +red Baldwin apple which she had brought for luncheon, and watched her +bite into it, which Ellen did readily, for she was not a child to +cherish enmity, with an odd triumph. “The other half ain't fit +to eat, it's all wormy,” said Abby Atkins, flinging it away as +she spoke.</p> + +<p>“Then you ought to have kept this,” Ellen cried out, +holding towards her the half, minus one little bite. But Abby Atkins +shook her head forcibly. “That was why I gave it to you,” +said she. “Say, didn't you never have to tie up your hair with +a shoe-string?” Ellen shook her head, looking at her +wonderingly. Then with a sudden impulse she tore off the blue ribbon +from her curls. “Say, you take it,” she said, “my +mother won't care. I'd just as lief wear the shoe-string, +honest.”</p> + +<p>“I don't want your blue ribbon,” Abby returned, +stoutly; “a shoe-string is a good deal better to tie the hair +with. I don't want your blue ribbon; I don't want no blue ribbon +unless it's mine.”</p> + +<p>“It would be yours if I give it to you,” Ellen +declared, with blue eyes of astonishment and consternation upon this +very strange little girl.</p> + +<p>“No, it wouldn't,” maintained Abby Atkins.</p> + +<p>But it ended in the two girls, with that wonderful and +inexplicable adjustment of childhood into one groove after harsh +grating on different levels, walking off together with arms around +each other's waist, and after school began Ellen often felt a soft, +cat-like pat on her head, and turned round with a loving glance at +Abby Atkins.</p> + +<p>Ellen talked more about Abby Atkins than any other of the children +when she got home, and while her mother looked at it all easily, her +grandmother was doubtful. “There's others that I should rather +have Ellen thick with,” said she. “I 'ain't nothin' +against the Atkinses, but they can't have been as well brought up as +some, they have had so little to do with, and their mother's been +ailin' so long.”</p> + +<p>“Ellen may as well begin as she can hold out, and be +intimate with them that will be intimate with her,” Eva said, +rather bitterly. Eva was married by this time, and living with Jim +and his mother. She wore in those days an expression of bitterly +defiant triumph and happiness, as of one who has wrested his sweet +from fate under the ban of the law, and is determined to get the +flavor of it though the skies fall. “I suppose I did wrong +marrying Jim,” she often told her sister, “but I can't +help it.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe Jim will get work before long,” her sister +would say, consolingly.</p> + +<p>“I have about given up,” Eva would reply. “I +guess Jim will have to roost on a flour-barrel at Munsey's store the +rest of his days; but as long as he belongs to me, it don't make so +much difference.”</p> + +<p>Eva had taken up an agency for a cosmetic which was manufactured +by a woman in Rowe. She had one window of the north parlor in the +Tenny cottage, which had been given up to her when she married Jim, +filled with the little pink boxes containing the “Fairy +Cream,” and a great sign, but the trade languished. Both Eva +and Jim had tried in vain to obtain employment in factories in other +towns.</p> + +<p>Lloyd's had not reopened, although it was April, and Andrew was +drawing on his savings. Fanny had surreptitiously answered an +advertisement purporting to give instructions to women as to the +earning of large sums of money at home, and was engaged with a stock +of glass and paints which she hurriedly swept out of sight when any +one's shadow passed the window, and later she found herself to be the +victim of a small swindling conspiracy, and lost the dollar which she +had invested. But Ellen knew nothing of all this. She lacked none of +her accustomed necessaries nor luxuries, and with her school a new +life full of keen, new savors or relish began for her. There were +also new affections in it.</p> + +<p>Ellen was as yet too young, and too confident in love, to have new +affections plunge her into anything but a delightful sort of +anti-blossom tumult. There was no suspense, no doubt, no jealousy, +only utter acquiescence of single-heartedness, admiration, and trust. +She thought Abby Atkins and Floretta Vining lovely and dependable; +she parted from them at night without a pang, and looked forward +blissfully to the meeting next morning. She also had sentiments +equally peaceful and pronounced, though instinctively more secret, +towards Granville Joy. She used to glance over towards the boys' side +and meet his side-long eyes without so much a quickening of her +pulses as a quickening of her imagination.</p> + +<p>“I know who your beau is,” Floretta Vining, who was in +advance of her years, said to her once, and Ellen looked at her with +half-stupid wonder.</p> + +<p>“His first name begins with a G and his last with a +J,” Floretta tittered, and Ellen continued to look at her with +the faintest suspicion of a blush, because she had a feminine +instinct that a blush was in order, not because she knew of any +reason for it.</p> + +<p>“He is,” said Floretta, with another exceedingly +foolish giggle. “My, you are as red as a beet.”</p> + +<p>“I ain't old enough to have a beau,” Ellen said, her +soft cheeks becoming redder, and her baby face all in a tremor.</p> + +<p>“Yes, you be,” Floretta said, with authority, +“because you are so pretty, and have got such pretty curls. Ben +Simonds said the other day you were the prettiest girl in +school.”</p> + +<p>“Then do you think he is my beau, too?” asked Ellen, +innocently. But Floretta frowned, and tittered, and hesitated.</p> + +<p>“He said except one,” she faltered out, finally.</p> + +<p>“Well, who was that?” asked Ellen.</p> + +<p>“How do I know?” pouted Floretta. “Mebbe it was +me, though I don't think I'm so very pretty.”</p> + +<p>“Then Ben Simonds is your beau,” said Ellen, +reflectively.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I guess he is,” admitted Floretta.</p> + +<p>That night, amid much wonder and tender ridicule, Ellen told her +mother and Aunt Eva, and her father, that Ben Simonds was Floretta's +beau, and Granville Joy was hers. But Andrew laughed doubtfully.</p> + +<p>“I don't want that little thing to get such ideas into her +head yet a while,” he told Fanny afterwards, but she only +laughed at him, seeing nothing but the childish play of the thing; +but he, being a man, saw deeper.</p> + +<p>However, Ellen's fondest new love was not for any of her little +mates, but for her school-teacher. To her the child's heart went out +in worship. All through the spring she offered her +violets—violets gathered laboriously after school in the meadow +back of her grandmother's house. She used to skip from hillock to +hillock of marsh grass with wary steps, lest she might slip and wet +her feet in the meadow ooze and incur her mother's displeasure, for +Fanny, in spite of her worship of the child, could speak with no +uncertain voice. She pulled up handfuls of the flowers, gleaming blue +in the dark-green hollows. Later she carried roses from the choice +bush in the yard, and, later, pears from her grandmother's tree. She +used to watch for Miss Mitchell at her gate and run to meet her, and +seize her hand and walk at her side, blushing with delight. Miss +Mitchell lived not far from Ellen, in a tidy white house with a +handsome smoke-tree on one side of the front walk and a willow with +upside-down branches on the other. Miss Mitchell had been born and +brought up in this house, but she had been teaching school in a +distant town ever since Ellen's day, so they had never been +acquainted before she went to school. Miss Mitchell lived alone with +her mother, who was an old friend of Mrs. Zelotes. Ellen privately +thought her rather better-looking than her own grandmother, though +her admiration was based upon wholly sentimental reasons. Old Mrs. +Mitchell might have earned more money in a museum of freaks than her +daughter in a district school. She was a mountain of rotundity, a +conjunction of palpitating spheres, but the soul that dwelt in this +painfully ponderous body was as mellow with affection and kindliness +as a ripe pear, and the voice that proceeded from her ever-smiling +lips was a hoarse and dove-like coo of love. Ellen at first started a +little aghast at this gigantic fleshliness, this general slough and +slump of outline, this insistency of repellent curves, and then the +old woman spoke and thrust out a great, soft hand, and the heart of +the child overleaped her artistic sense and her reason, and she +thought old Mrs. Mitchell beautiful. Mrs. Mitchell never failed to +regale her with a superior sort of cooky, and often with a covert +peppermint, and that although the Mitchells were not well off. The +old place was mortgaged, and Miss Mitchell had hard work to pay the +interest. Ellen had the vaguest ideas about the mortgage, and was +half inclined to think it might be a disfiguring patch in the +plastering of the sitting-room, which hung down in an unsightly +fashion with a disclosure of hairy edges, and threatened danger to +the heads underneath.</p> + +<p>Often of a Saturday afternoon Ellen went to visit Miss Mitchell +and her mother, and really preferred them to friends of her own age. +Miss Mitchell had a store of superannuated paper dolls which dated +from her own childhood. Their quaint costumes, and old-fashioned +coiffures, and simpers were of overwhelming interest to Ellen. Even +at that early age she had a perception of the advantages of an +atmosphere to art, and even to the affections. Without understanding +it, she loved those obsolete paper-dolls and those women of former +generations better because they gave her breathing-scope for her +imagination. She could love Abby Atkins and Floretta Vining at one +bite, as it were, and that was the end of it, but she could sit and +ponder and dream over Miss Mitchell and her mother, and see whole +vistas of them in receding mirrors of affection.</p> + +<p>As for the teacher and her mother, they simply adored the +child—as indeed everybody did. She continued at her first +school for a year, which was one of the hardest financially ever +experienced in Rowe. Norman Lloyd during all that time did not reopen +his factory, and in the autumn two others shut down. The streets were +full of the discontented ranks of impotent labor, and all the public +buildings were props for the weary shoulders of the unemployed. On +pleasant days the sunny sides of the vacant factories, especially, +furnished settings for lines of scowling faces of misery.</p> + +<p>This atmosphere affected Ellen more than any one realized, since +the personal bearing of it was kept from her. She did not know that +her father was drawing upon his precious savings for daily needs, she +did not know how her aunt Eva and her uncle Jim were getting into +greater difficulties every day, but she was too sensitive not to be +aware of disturbances which were not in direct contact with herself. +She never forgot what she had overheard that night Lloyd's had shut +down; it was always like a blot upon the face of her happy +consciousness of life. She often overheard, as then, those loud, +dissenting voices of her father and his friends in the sitting-room, +after she had gone to bed; and then, too, Abby Atkins, who was not +spared any knowledge of hardship, told her a good deal. “It's +awful the way them rich folks treat us,” said Abby Atkins. +“They own the shops and everything, and take all the money, and +let our folks do all the work. It's awful. But then,” continued +Abby Atkins, comfortingly, “your father has got money saved in +the bank, and he owns his house, so you can get along if he don't +have work. My father 'ain't got any, and he's got the old-fashioned +consumption, and he coughs, and it takes money for his medicine. Then +mother's sick a good deal too, and has to have medicine. We have to +have more medicine than most anything else, and we hardly ever have +any pie or cake, and it's all the fault of them rich folks.” +Abby Atkins wound up with a tragic climax and a fierce roll of her +black eyes.</p> + +<p>That evening Ellen went in to see her grandmother, and was +presented with some cookies, which she did not eat.</p> + +<p>“Why don't you eat them?” Mrs. Zelotes asked.</p> + +<p>“Can I have them to do just what I want to with?” +asked Ellen.</p> + +<p>“What on earth do you want to do with a cooky except eat +it?” Ellen blushed; she had a shamed-faced feeling before a +contemplated generosity.</p> + +<p>“What do you want to do with them except eat them?” +her grandmother asked, severely.</p> + +<p>“Abby Atkins don't have any cookies 'cause her father's out +of work,” said Ellen, abashedly.</p> + +<p>“Did that Atkins girl ask you to bring her +cookies?”</p> + +<p>“No, ma'am.”</p> + +<p>“You can do jest what you are a mind to with 'em,” +Mrs. Zelotes said, abruptly.</p> + +<p>Ellen never knew why her grandmother insisted upon her drinking a +little glass of very nice and very spicy cordial before she went +home, but the truth was, that Mrs. Zelotes thought the child so +angelic in this disposition to give up the cookies which she loved to +her little friend that she was straightway alarmed and thought her +too good to live.</p> + +<p>The next day she told Fanny, and said to her, with her old face +stern with anxiety, that the child was lookin' real pindlin', and +Ellen had to take bitters for a month afterwards because she gave the +cookies to Abby Atkins.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XIII</h3> + +<p>In all growth there is emulation and striving for precedence +between the spiritual and the physical, and this very emulation may +determine the rate of progression of the whole. Sometimes the one, +sometimes the other, may be in advance, but all the time the tendency +is towards the distant goal. Sometimes the two keep abreast, and then +there is the greatest harmony in speed. In Ellen Brewster at twelve +and fifteen the spiritual outstripped the physical, as is often the +case. Her eyes grew intense and hollow with reflection under knitting +brows, her thin shoulders stooped like those of a sage bent with +study and contemplation. She was slender to emaciation; her clothes +hung loosely over her form, which seemed as sexless as a lily-stem; +indeed, her body seemed only made for the head, which was flower-like +and charming, but almost painful in its delicacy, and with such +weight of innocent pondering upon the unknown conditions of things in +which she found herself. At times, of course, there were ebullitions +of youthful spirit, and the child was as inconsequent as a kitten. At +those times she was neither child nor woman; she was an anomalous +thing made up not so much of actualities as of instincts. She romped +with her mates as unseen and uncomprehended of herself as any young +animal, but the flame of her striving spirit made everything full of +unread meaning.</p> + +<p>Ellen was accounted a most remarkable scholar. She had left Miss +Mitchell's school, and was in one of a higher grade. At fifteen she +entered the high-school and had a master.</p> + +<p>Andrew was growing old fast in those days, though not so old as to +years. Though he was far from old, his hair was gray, his back bent. +He moved with a weary shuffle. The men in the shop began to eye him +furtively. “Andrew Brewster will get fired next,” they +said. “The boss 'ain't no use for men with the first snap +gone.” Indeed, Andrew was constantly given jobs of lower +grades, which did not pay so well. Whenever the force was reduced on +account of dulness in trade, Andrew was one of the first to be laid +aside on waiting orders in the regular army of toil. On one of these +occasions, in the spring after Ellen was fifteen, his first fit of +recklessness seized him. One night, after loafing a week, he came +home with fever spots in his cheeks and a curiously bright, strained +look in his eyes. Fanny gazed sharply at him across the supper-table. +Finally she laid down her knife and fork, rested her elbows on the +table, and fixed her eyes commandingly upon him. “Andrew +Brewster, what is the matter?” said she. Ellen turned her +flower-like face towards her father, who took a swallow of tea +without saying a word, though he shuffled his feet uneasily. +“Andrew, you answer me,” repeated Fanny.</p> + +<p>“There ain't anything the matter,” answered Andrew, +with a strange sullenness for him.</p> + +<p>“There is, too. Now, Andrew Brewster, I ain't goin' to be +put off. I know you're on the shelf on account of hard times, so it +ain't that. It's something new. Now I want to know what it +is.”</p> + +<p>“It ain't anything.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is. Andrew, you ought to tell me. You know I ain't +afraid to bear anything that you have to bear, and Ellen is getting +old enough now, so she can understand, and she can't always be +spared. She'd better get a little knowledge of hardships while she +has us to help her bear 'em.”</p> + +<p>“This ain't a hardship, and there ain't anything to spare, +Ellen,” said Andrew; and he laughed with a hilarity totally +unlike him.</p> + +<p>That was all Fanny could get out of him, but she was half +reassured. She told Eva that she didn't believe but he had been +buying some Christmas present that he knew was extravagant for Ellen, +and was afraid to tell her because he knew she would scold. But +Andrew had not been buying Christmas presents, but speculating in +mining stocks. He had resisted the temptation long. Year in and year +out he had heard the talk right and left in the shop, on the street, +and at the store of an evening. “I'll give you a point,” +he had heard one say to another during a discussion as to prices and +dividends. He had heard it all described as a short cross-cut over +the fields of hard labor to wealth and comfort, and he had kept his +face straight ahead in his narrow track of caution and hereditary +instincts until then. “The savings bank is good enough for +me,” he used to say; “that's where my father kept his +money. I don't know anything about your stocks. I'd rather have a +little and have it safe.” The men could not reason him out of +his position, not even when Billy Monroe made fifteen hundred dollars +on a Colorado mine which had cost him fifteen cents per share, and +left the shop, and drove a fast horse in a Goddard buggy.</p> + +<p>It was even reported that fifteen hundred was fifteen thousand, +but Andrew was proof against this brilliant loadstar of success, +though many of his mates followed it afar, just before the shares +dropped below par.</p> + +<p>Jim Tenny went with the rest. “Tell you what 'tis, Andrew, +old man,” he said, clapping Andrew on the shoulder as they were +going out of the shop one night, “you'd better go in +too.”</p> + +<p>“The savings-bank is good enough for me,” said Andrew, +with his gentle doggedness.</p> + +<p>“You can buy a trotter,” urged Jim.</p> + +<p>“I never was much on trotters,” replied Andrew.</p> + +<p>“I ain't going to walk home many times more, you bet,” +Jim said to Eva when he got home, and then he bent back her tensely +set face and kissed it. Eva was crocheting hoods for fifteen cents +apiece for a neighboring woman who was a padrone on a small scale, +having taken a large order from a dealer for which she realized +twenty cents apiece, and employed all the women in the neighborhood +to do the work.</p> + +<p>“Why not?” said she.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said Jim, gayly, “I've bought some of that +‘Golden Hope’ mining stock. Billy Monroe has just made +fifteen thousand on it, and I'll make as much in a week or +two.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Jim, you 'ain't taken all the money out of the +bank?”</p> + +<p>“Don't you worry, old girl,” replied Jim. “I +guess you'll find I can take care of you yet.”</p> + +<p>But the stock went down, and Jim's little venture with it.</p> + +<p>“Guess you were about right, old man,” he said to +Andrew.</p> + +<p>Andrew was rather looked up to for his superior caution and +sagacity. He was continually congratulated upon it. +“Savings-banks are good enough for me,” he kept +repeating. But that was four years ago, and now his turn had come; +the contagion of speculation had struck him at last. That was the way +with Lloyd's failing employés.</p> + +<p>Andrew kept his stock certificate in a little, tin, trunk-shaped +box which had belonged to his father. It had a key and a tiny +padlock, and he had always stored in it the deed of his house, his +savings-bank book, and his insurance policy. He carried the key in +his pocket. Fanny never opened the box, or had any curiosity about +it, believing that she was acquainted with its contents; but now +when, on coming unexpectedly into the bedroom—the box was +always kept at the head of the bed—she heard a rattle of +papers, and caught Andrew locking the box with a confused air, she +began to suspect something. She began to look hard at the box, to +take it up and shake it when her husband was away. Fanny was +crocheting hoods as well as Eva. Ellen wished to learn, but her +mother would not allow that. “You've got enough to do to study +your lessons,” she said. Andrew watched his wife crochet with +ill-concealed impatience.</p> + +<p>“I ain't goin' to have you do that long,” he +said—“workin' at that rate for no more money. That Mrs. +William Pendergrass that lets out these hoods is as bad as any +factory boss in the country.”</p> + +<p>“Well, she got the chance,” said Fanny, “and +they won't let out the work except that way; they can get it done so +much cheaper.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you sha'n't have it, anyhow,” said Andrew, +smiling mysteriously.</p> + +<p>“Why, you ain't goin' to work again, be you, +Andrew?”</p> + +<p>“You wait.”</p> + +<p>“Well, don't you talk the way poor Jim did. Eva wasn't going +to crochet any more hoods, and now Jim's out of work again. Eva told +me yesterday that she didn't know where the money was comin' from. +Jim's mother owns the place, and it ain't worth much, anyhow, and +they can't take it from her in her lifetime, even if she was willing +to let it go. Eva said she was goin' to try again for work herself in +the shop. She thought maybe there might be some kind of a job she +could get. Don't you talk like Jim did about his good-for-nothin' +mining stock. I've been glad enough that you had sense enough to keep +what little we had where 'twas safe.”</p> + +<p>“Ain't it most time for Ellen to be comin' home?” +asked Andrew, to turn the conversation, as he felt somewhat guilty +and uncomfortable, though his eyes were jubilant. He had very little +doubt about the success of his venture. As it is with a man who +yields to love for the first time in his life, it was with Andrew in +his tardy subjection to the hazards of fortune. He was a much more +devoted slave than those who had long wooed her. He had always taken +nothing but the principal newspaper published in Rowe, but now he +subscribed to a Boston paper, the one which had the fullest financial +column, though Fanny exclaimed at his extravagance.</p> + +<p>Along in midsummer, in the midst of Ellen's vacation, the mining +stock dropped fast a point or more a day. Andrew's heart began to +sink, though he was far from losing hope. He used to talk it over +with the men who advised him to buy, and come home fortified.</p> + +<p>All he had to do was to be patient; the fall meant nothing wrong +with the mine, only the wrangle of speculators. “It's like a +football, first on one side, and then on the other,” said the +man, “but the football's there all the same, and if it's that +you want, you're all right.”</p> + +<p>One night when Nahum Beals and Atkins and John Sargent were in, +Andrew repeated this wisdom, concealing the fact of its personal +application. He was anxious to have some confirmation.</p> + +<p>“I suppose it's about so,” he said.</p> + +<p>Then John Sargent spoke up. “No, it is not so,” he +said—“that is, not in many cases. There isn't any +football—that's the trouble. There's nothing but the money; a +lot of fools have paid for it when it never existed out of their +imagination.”</p> + +<p>“About so,” said Nahum Beals. Andrew and Atkins +exchanged glances. Atkins was at once sympathizing and +triumphant.</p> + +<p>“Lots of those things appear to be doing well, and to be all +right,” said Andrew, uneasily. “The directors keep saying +that they are in a prosperous condition, even if the stock +drops.” He almost betrayed himself.</p> + +<p>John Sargent laughed that curious, inflexible laugh of his. +“Lord, I know all about that,” said he. “I had some +once. First one thing and then another came up to hinder the working +of the mine and the payments of dividends. First there wasn't any +water, an unprecedented dry season in those parts, oldest inhabitants +for evidence. Then there was too much water, no way to mine except +they employed professional divers, everything under water. Then the +transportation was to pay; then, when that was remedied, the ore +didn't come out in shape to transport in the rough and had to be +worked up on the premises, and new mills had to be built and new +machinery put in, and a few little Irish dividends were collected for +that. Then when they got the mills up and the machinery in, they +struck another kind of ore that ought to be transported; then there +came a landslide and carried half the road into a cañon. So it +went on, one thing and another. If ever that darned mine had got into +working order, right kind of ore, water enough and not too much, +roads and machinery all right, and everything swimming, the Day of +Judgment would have come.”</p> + +<p>“Did you ever get anything out of it?” inquired +Andrew.</p> + +<p>“Anything out of it?” repeated the other. “Yes, +I got enough worldly wisdom never to buy any more mining stock, after +I had paid assessments on it for two years and the whole thing went +to pieces.”</p> + +<p>“It may come up yet,” said Andrew.</p> + +<p>“There's nothing to come up,” said John Sargent. He +had been away from Rowe a year, but had just returned, and was again +boarding with Atkins, and all the family lived on his board money. +Andrew and Nahum Beals were smoking pipes. Andrew gently, like a +philosopher, who smokes that he may dream; Nahum with furious jets +and frequent removals of his pipe for scowling speeches. John Sargent +did not smoke at all. He had left off cigars first, then even his +pipe. He gave the money which he saved thereby to Mrs. Atkins as a +bonus on his board money.</p> + +<p>The lamp burned dimly in the blue fog of tobacco smoke, and the +windows where the curtains were not drawn were blanks of silvery +moonlight. Ellen sat on the doorstep outside and heard the talk. She +did not understand it, nor take much interest in it. Their minds were +fixed upon the way of living, and hers upon life itself. She could +bring her simplicity to bear upon the world-old question of riches +and poverty and labor, but this temporal adjunct of stocks and +markets was as yet beyond her. Her mother had gone to her aunt Eva's +and she sat alone out in the wide mystery of the summer night, +watching the lovely shift of radiance and shadows, as she might have +watched the play of a kaleidoscope, seeing the beauty of the new +combinations, and seeing without comprehending the unit which +governed them all. The night was full of cries of insistent life and +growth, of birds and insects, of calls of children, and now and then +the far-away roar of railroad trains. It was nearly midsummer. The +year was almost at its height, but had not passed it. Growth and +bloom was still in the ascendant, and had not yet attained that +maturity of perfection beyond which is the slope of death.</p> + +<p>Everywhere about her were the revolutions of those unseen wheels +of nature whose immortal trend is towards the completion of time, and +whose momentum can overlap the grave; and the child was within them +and swept onward with the perfecting flowers, and the ripening fruit, +and the insects which were feeling their wings; and all +unconsciously, in a moment as it were, she unfolded a little farther +towards her own heyday of bloom. Suddenly from those heights of the +primitive and the eternal upon which a child starts and where she +still lingered she saw her future before her, shining with new +lights, and a wonderful conviction of bliss to come was over her. It +was that conviction which comes at times to all unconquered souls, +and which has the very essence of truth in it, since it overleaps the +darkness of life that lies between them and that bliss. Suddenly +Ellen felt that she was born to great happiness, and all that was to +come was towards that end. Her heart beat loud in her ears. There was +a whippoorwill calling in some trees to the left; the moon was dim +under a golden dapple of clouds. She could not feel her hands or her +feet; she seemed to feel nothing except her soul.</p> + +<p>Then she heard, loud and sweet and clear, a boy's whistle, one of +the popular tunes of the day. It came nearer and nearer, and it was +in the same key with the child's thoughts and dreams. Then she saw a +slender figure dark against the moonlight stop at a fence, and she +jumped up and ran towards it with no hesitation through the dewy +grass; and it was the boy, Granville Joy. He stood looking at her. He +had a handsome, eager face, and Ellen looked at him, her lips parted, +her face like a lily in the white light.</p> + +<p>“Hulloo,” said the boy.</p> + +<p>“Hulloo,” Ellen responded, faintly.</p> + +<p>Granville extended one rough, brown, boyish hand over the fence, +and Ellen laid her little, soft hand in it. He pulled her gently +close, then Ellen lifted her face, and the boy bent his, and the two +kissed each other over the fence. Then the boy went on down the +street, but he did not whistle, and Ellen went back to the doorstep, +and, looking about to be sure that none of the men in the +sitting-room saw, pulled off one little shoe and drew forth a sprig +of southernwood, or boy's-love, which was crushed under her foot.</p> + +<p>That day Floretta Vining had told her that if she would put a +sprig of boy's-love in her shoe, the very first boy she met would be +the one she was going to marry; and Ellen, who was passing from one +grade of school to another, had tried it.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XIV</h3> + +<p>The high-school master was a distant relative of the Lloyd's, +through whom he had obtained the position. One evening when he was +taking tea with them at Cynthia Lennox's, he spoke of Ellen. “I +have one really remarkable scholar,” he said, with a curious +air of self-gratulation, as if he were principally responsible for +it; “her name is Brewster—Ellen Brewster.”</p> + +<p>“Good land! That must be the child that ran away five or six +years ago, and all the town up in arms over it,” said Mrs. +Norman Lloyd. “Don't you remember, Cynthia?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied Cynthia, and continued pouring tea. +Cynthia was very little changed. In some faces time seems to engrave +lines delicately, once for all, and then lay by. She was rather more +charming now than when one had looked at her with any expectancy of +youth, since there was now no sense of disappointment.</p> + +<p>“I remember that,” said Norman Lloyd. “The child +would never tell where she had been. A curious case.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the school-master, “leaving that +childish episode out of the question, she has a really remarkable +mind. If she were a boy, I should advise a thorough education and a +profession. I should as it is, if her family were able to bear the +expense. She has that intuitive order of mind which is wonderful +enough, though not, after all, so rare in a girl; but in addition she +has the logical, which, according to my experience, is almost unknown +in a woman. She ought to have an education.”</p> + +<p>“But,” said Risley, “what is the use of +educating that unfortunate child?”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“What I say. What is the use? There she is in her sphere of +life, the daughter of a factory operative, in all probability in +after-years to be the wife of one and the mother of others. Nothing +but a rich marriage can save her, and that she is not likely to make. +Milk-maids are more likely to make rich marriages than factory girls; +there is a certain savor of romance about milk, and the dewy meadows, +and the breath of kine, but a shoe factory is brutally realistic and +illusionary. Now, why do you want to increase the poor child's +horizon farther than her little feet can carry her? Fit her to be a +good female soldier in the ranks of labor, to be a good wife and +mother to the makers of shoes, to wash and iron their uniforms of +toil, to cook well the food which affords them the requisite +nourishment to make shoes, to appreciate book-lore, which is a +pleasure and a profit to the makers of shoes; possibly in the +non-event of marriage she will make shoes herself. The system of +education in our schools is all wrong. It is both senseless and +futile. Look at the children filing past to school, and look at their +fathers, and their mothers too, filing past to the factory. Look at +their present, and look at their future. And look at the trash taught +them in their text-books—trash from its utter dissociation with +their lives. You might as well teach a Zulu lace-work, instead of the +use of the assagai.”</p> + +<p>“Now look here, Mr. Risley,” said the school-master, +his face flushing, “is not—I beg your pardon, of +course—this view of yours a little narrow and +ultra-conservative? You do not want to establish a permanent +factory-operative class in this country, do you? That is what your +theory would ultimately tend towards. Ought not these children be +given their chance to rise in the ranks; ought they to be condemned +to tread in the same path as their fathers?”</p> + +<p>“I would have those little paths which intersect every +unoccupied field in this locality worn by the feet of these men and +their children after them unto the third and fourth +generation,” said Risley. “If not, where is our skilled +labor?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mr. Risley,” said Mrs. Lloyd, anxiously, +“you wouldn't want all those dear little children to work as +hard as their fathers, and not do any better, would you?”</p> + +<p>“If they don't, who is going to make our shoes, dear Mrs. +Lloyd?” asked Risley.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lloyd and the school-master stared at him, and Lloyd laughed +his low, almost mirthless laugh.</p> + +<p>“Don't you know, Edward,” he said, “that Mr. +Risley is not in earnest, and speaks with the deadly intent of an +anarchist with a bomb in his bag? He is the most out-and-out radical +in the country. If there were a strike, and I did not yield to the +demands of the oppressed, and imported foreign labor, I don't know +that my life would be safe from him.”</p> + +<p>“Then you do approve of a higher education?” asked the +school-master, while Mrs. Lloyd stared from one to the other in +bewilderment.</p> + +<p>“Yes, if we and our posterity have to go barefoot,” +said Risley, laughing out with a sudden undertone of seriousness.</p> + +<p>“I suppose everybody could get accustomed to going barefoot +after a while,” said Mrs. Lloyd. “Do you suppose that +dear little thing was barefooted when she ran away, +Cynthia?”</p> + +<p>Risley answered as if he had been addressed. “I can vouch +for the fact that she was not, Mrs. Lloyd,” he said. +“They would sooner have walked on red-hot ploughshares +themselves than let her.”</p> + +<p>“Her father is getting quite an old man,” Norman Lloyd +said, with no apparent relevancy, as if he were talking to +himself.</p> + +<p>All the time Cynthia Lennox had been quietly sitting at the head +of the table. When the rest of the company had gone, and she and +Risley were alone, seated in the drawing-room before the parlor fire, +for it was a chilly day, she turned her fair, worn face towards him +on the crimson velvet of her chair. “Do you know why I did not +speak and tell them where the child was that time?” she +asked.</p> + +<p>“Because of your own good sense?”</p> + +<p>“No; because of you.”</p> + +<p>He looked at her adoringly. She was older than he, her beauty +rather recorded than still evident on her face; she had been to him +from the first like a fair, forbidden flower behind a wall of +prohibition, but nothing could alter his habit of loving her.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said she. “It was more on your account +than on my own; confession would be good for the soul. The secret has +always rankled in my pride. I would much rather defy opinion than fly +before it. But I know that you would mind. However, there was another +reason.”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>She hesitated a little and colored, even laughed a little, +embarrassed laugh which was foreign to her. “Well, +Lyman,” said she, finally, “one reason why I did not +speak was that I see my way clear to making up to that child and her +parents for any wrong which I may have done them by causing them a +few hours' anxiety. When she has finished the high-school I mean to +send her to college.”</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XV</h3> + +<p>When Ellen was about sixteen, in her second year at the +high-school, her own family never looked at her without a slight +shock of wonder, as before the unexpected. Her mates, being +themselves in the transition state, received her unquestioningly as a +fellow-traveller, and colored like themselves with the new lights of +the journey. But Ellen's father and mother and grandmother never +ceased regarding her with astonishment and admiration and something +like alarm. While they regarded Ellen with the utmost pride, they +still privately regretted this perfection of bloom which was the +forerunner of independence of the parent stalk—at least, Andrew +did. Andrew had grown older and more careworn; his mine had not yet +paid any dividends, but he had scattering jobs of work, and with his +wife's assistance had managed to rub along, and his secret was still +safe.</p> + +<p>One day in February there was a half-holiday. Lloyd's was shut for +the rest of the day, for his brother in St. Louis was dead, and had +been brought to Rowe to be buried, and his funeral was at two +o'clock.</p> + +<p>“Goin' to the funeral, old man?” one of Andrew's +fellow-workmen had asked, jostling him as he went out of the shop at +noon. Before Andrew could answer, another voice broke in fiercely. It +belonged to Joseph Atkins, who was ghastly that day.</p> + +<p>“I ain't goin' to no funerals,” he said; “guess +they won't shut up shop for mine.” Then he coughed. His +daughter Abby, who had been working in the factory for some time +then, pressed close behind her father, and the expression in her face +was an echo of his.</p> + +<p>“When I strike, that's what I'm going to strike for—to +have the shop shut up the day of my funeral,” said she; and the +remark had a ghastly flippancy, contradicted by her intense manner. A +laugh went around, and a young fellow with a handsome, unshaven face +caught her by the arm.</p> + +<p>“You'd better strike to have the shop shut up the day you're +married,” said he; but Abby flung away from him.</p> + +<p>“I'll thank you to let me alone, Tom Hardy,” she said, +with a snap; and the men laughed harder.</p> + +<p>Abby was attractive to men in spite of her smallness and leanness +and incisiveness of manner. She was called mighty smart and dry, +which was the shop synonym for witty, and her favors, possibly +because she never granted them, were accounted valuable. Abby Atkins +had more admirers than many a girl who was prettier and presumably +more winning in every way, and could have married twice to their +once. But Abby had no wish for a lover. “I've got all I can do +to earn my own living and the living of them that belong to +me,” said she.</p> + +<p>That afternoon Andrew Brewster stayed at home. After dinner Eva +Tenny and her little girl came in, and Ellen went down street on an +errand.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Zelotes Brewster was crossing her yard to her son's house +when she saw Ellen passing, and paused to gaze at her with that +superb pride which pertains to self and is yet superior to it. It was +the idealized pride of her own youth. When she proceeded again +against the February gusts, it was with an unconscious aping of her +granddaughter's freedom of gait. Mrs. Zelotes wore an old red +cashmere scarf crossed over her bosom; she held up her black skirts +in front, and they trailed pointedly in the rear; she also stood well +back on her heels, and when she paused in the wind-swept yard +presented a curious likeness to an old robin pausing for reconnoitre. +Fanny and Eva Tenny in the next house saw her coming.</p> + +<p>“Look at her holding up her dress in front and letting it +drag in the back,” said Eva. “It always seemed to me +there was somethin' wrong about any woman that held up her dress in +front and let it drag behind.”</p> + +<p>Eva retained all the coarse beauty of her youth, but lines of +unalterable hardness were fixed on her forehead and at her mouth +corners, and the fierce flush in her cheeks was as set as paint. Her +beauty had endured the siege; no guns of mishaps could affect it, but +that charm of evanescence which awakens tenderness was gone. Jim +Tenny's affection seemed to be waning, and Eva looked at herself in +the glass even when bedecked with tawdry finery, and owned that she +did not wonder. She strained up her hair into the latest perkiness of +twist, and crimped it, and curled her feathers, and tied her ribbons +not as much in hope as in a stern determination to do her part +towards the furbishing of her faded star of attraction. “Jim +don't act as if he thought so much of me, an' I dun'no' as I +wonder,” she told her sister.</p> + +<p>Fanny looked at her critically. “You mean you ain't so +good-lookin' as you used to be?” said she.</p> + +<p>Eva nodded.</p> + +<p>“Well, if that is all men care for us,” said +Fanny.</p> + +<p>“It ain't,” said Eva, “only it's the key to it. +It's like losin' the key and not bein' able to get in the door in +consequence.”</p> + +<p>“It wa'n't my husband's key,” said Fanny, with a +glance at her own face, faded as to feature and bloom, but +intensified as to love and daily duty, like that of a dog sharpened +to one faithfulness of existence.</p> + +<p>“Andrew ain't Jim,” said Eva, shortly.</p> + +<p>“I know he ain't,” Fanny assented, with emphasis.</p> + +<p>“But I wouldn't swap off my husband for a dozen of +yours,” said Eva.</p> + +<p>“Well, I wouldn't swap off mine for a thousand of +yours,” returned Fanny, sharply; and there might have been one +of the old-time tussles between the sisters had not Eva's violent, +half-bitter sense of humor averted it. She broke into a hard +laugh.</p> + +<p>“Good Lord,” she said, “I dun'no' as I should +want a thousand like Jim. Seems to me it would be considerable +care.”</p> + +<p>Fanny began to speak, but checked herself. She had heard rumors +regarding Jim Tenny of late and had flown fiercely with denial at the +woman who told her, and had not repeated them to her sister.</p> + +<p>She was thinking how she had heard that Jim had been seen driving +in Wenham with Aggie Morse several times lately. Aggie Morse had been +Aggie Bemis, Jim's old sweetheart. She had married a well-to-do +merchant in Wenham, who died six months before and left her with +considerable property. It was her own smart little turn-out in which +she had been seen with Jim.</p> + +<p>Eva was working in the shop, and Jim had been out of employment +for nearly a year, and living on his wife. There was a demand for +girls and not for men just then, so Jim loafed. His old mother cared +for the house as well as she was able, and Eva did the rest nights +and mornings. At first Jim had tried to help about the house-work, +but Eva had interfered.</p> + +<p>“It ain't a man's work,” said she. “Your mother +can leave the hard part of it till I get home.” Eva used to +put the money she earned surreptitiously into her husband's pockets +that he might not feel his manly pride injured, but she defeated her +own ends by her very solicitude. Jim Tenny began to reason that his +wife saw his shame and ignominious helplessness, else she would not +have been so anxious to cover it. The stoop of discouragement which +Eva used to fear for his shoulders did not come, but, instead, +something worse—the defiant set-back of recklessness. He took +his wife's earnings and despised himself. Whenever he paid a bill, he +was sure the men in the store said, the minute his back was turned, +“It's his wife's money that paid for that.” He took to +loafing on sunny corners, and eying the passers-by with the blank +impudence of regard of those outside the current of life. When his +wife passed by on her way from the shop he nodded to her as if she +were a stranger, and presently followed her home at a distance. He +would not be seen on the street with her if he could avoid it. If by +any chance when he was standing on his corner of idleness his little +girl came past, he melted away imperceptibly. He could not bear it +that the child should see him standing there in that company of +futility and openly avowed inadequacy. The child was a keen-eyed, +slender little girl, resembling neither father nor mother, but +looking rather like her paternal grandmother, who was a fair, +attenuated woman, with an intelligence which had sharpened on herself +for want of anything more legitimate, and worn her out by the +unnatural friction. The little Amabel, for Eva had been romantic in +the naming of her child, was an old-fashioned-looking child in spite +of Eva's careful decoration of the little figure in the best childish +finery which she could muster.</p> + +<p>Little Amabel was reading a child's book at another window. When +Mrs. Zelotes entered she eyed her with the sharpness and inscrutable +conclusions therefrom of a kitten, then turned a leaf in her +book.</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Zelotes had greeted her daughter-in-law and Eva, she +looked with disapproval at Amabel.</p> + +<p>“When I was a little girl I should have been punished if I +hadn't got up and curtsied and said good-afternoon when company came +in,” she remarked, severely.</p> + +<p>Amabel was not a favorite outside of her own family. People used +to stare aghast at her unexpected questions and demands delivered in +a shrill clarion as from some summit of childish wisdom, and they +said she was a queer child. She yielded always to command from utter +helplessness, but the why of obedience was strongly alert within her. +The child might have been in some subtle and uncanny fashion the +offspring of her age and generation instead of her natural parents, +she was so unlike either of them, and so much a product of the times, +with her meekness and slavishness of weakness and futility, and her +unquenchable and unconquerable vitality of dissent.</p> + +<p>Ellen adored the little Amabel. Presently, when she returned from +her errand down-town, she cried out with delight when she saw her; +and the child ran to meet her, and clung to her, with her flaxen head +snuggled close to her cheek. Ellen caught the child up, seated +herself, and sat cuddling her as she used to cuddle her doll.</p> + +<p>“You dear little thing!” she murmured, “you dear +little thing! You did come to see Ellen, didn't you?” And the +child gazed up in the young girl's face with a rapt expression. +Nothing can express the admiration, which is almost as unquestionable +as worship, of a very little girl for a big one. Amabel loved her +mother with a rather unusual intensity for a child, but Ellen was +what she herself would be when she was grown up. Through Ellen her +love of self and her ambition budded into blossom. Ellen could do +nothing wrong because she did what she herself would do when she was +grown. She never questioned Ellen for her reasons.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Zelotes kept looking at the two, with pride in Ellen and +disapproval of her caresses of the child. “Seems to me you +might speak to your own folks as well as to have no eyes for anybody +but that child,” she said, finally.</p> + +<p>“Why, grandma, I spoke to you just a little while +ago,” returned Ellen. “You know I saw you just a few +minutes before I went down-town.” Ellen straightened the child +on her knees, and began to try to twist her soft, straight flaxen +locks into curls. Andrew lounged in from the kitchen and sat down and +regarded Ellen fondly. The girl's cheeks were a splendid color from +her walk in the cold wind, her hair around her temples caught the +light from the window, and seemed to wreathe her head with a yellow +flame. She tossed the child about with lithe young arms, whose every +motion suggested reserves of tender strength. Ellen was more +beautiful than she had ever been before, and yet something was gone +from her face, though only temporarily, since the lines for the +vanished meaning was still there. All the introspection and +dreaminess and poetry of her face were gone, for the girl was, for +the time, overbalanced on the physical side of her life. The joy of +existence for itself alone was intoxicating her. The innocent +frivolities of her sex had seized her too, and the instincts which +had not yet reached her brain nor gone farther than her bounding +pulses of youth. “Ellen is getting real fond of dress,” +Fanny often said to Andrew. He only laughed at that. “Well, +pretty birds like pretty feathers, and no wonder,” said he. But +he did not laugh when Fanny added that Ellen seemed to think more +about the boys than she used to. There was scarcely a boy in the +high-school who was not Ellen's admirer. It was a curious happening +in those days when Ellen was herself in much less degree the stuff of +which dreams are made than she had been and would be thereafter, that +she was the object of so many. Every morning when she entered the +school-room she was reflected in a glorious multiple of ideals in no +one could tell how many boyish hearts. Floretta Vining began to +imitate her, and kept close to Ellen with supremest diplomacy, that +she might thereby catch some of the crumbs of attention which fell +from Ellen's full table. Often when some happy boy had secured a +short monopoly of Ellen, his rival took up with Floretta, and she was +content, being one of those purely feminine things who have no pride +when the sweets of life are concerned. Floretta dressed her hair like +Ellen's, and tied her neck-ribbons the same way; she held her head +like her, she talked like her, except when the two girls were +absolutely alone; then she sometimes relapsed suddenly, to Ellen's +bewilderment, into her own ways, and her blue eyes took on an +expression as near animosity as her ingratiating politic nature could +admit.</p> + +<p>Ellen did not affiliate as much with Floretta as with Maria +Atkins. Abby had gone to work in the shop, and so Ellen did not see +so much of her. Maria was not as much a favorite with the boys as she +had been since they had passed and not yet returned to that stage +when feminine comradeship satisfies; so Ellen used to confide in her +with a surety of sympathy and no contention. Once, when the girls +were sleeping together, Ellen made a stupendous revelation to Maria, +having first bound her to inviolable secrecy. “I love a +boy,” said she, holding Maria's little arm tightly.</p> + +<p>“I know who,” said Maria, with a hushed voice.</p> + +<p>“He kissed me once, and then I knew it,” said +Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Well, I guess he loves you,” said Maria. Ellen +shivered and drew a fluttering sigh of assent. Then the two girls lay +in each other's arms, looking at the moonlight which streamed in +through the window. God knew in what realms of pure romance, and of +passion so sublimated by innocence that no tinge of earthliness +remained, the two wandered in their dreams.</p> + +<p>At last, that afternoon in February, Ellen put down little Amabel +and got out her needle-work. She was making a lace neck-tie for her +own adornment. She showed it to her grandmother at her mother's +command. “It's real pretty,” said Mrs. Zelotes. +“Ellen takes after the Brewsters; they were always handy with +their needles.”</p> + +<p>“Can uncle sew?” asked little Amabel, suddenly, from +her corner, in a tone big with wonder.</p> + +<p>Eva and the others chuckled, but Mrs. Zelotes eyed the child +severely. “Little girls shouldn't ask silly questions,” +said she.</p> + +<p>Andrew passed his hand with a rough caress over the small flaxen +head. “Uncle Andrew can't sew anything but shoes,” said +he.</p> + +<p>Little Amabel's question had aroused in Mrs. Zelotes a carping +spirit even against Ellen. Presently she turned to her. “I +heard something about you,” said she. “I want to know if +it is true. I heard that you were walking home from school with that +Joy boy one day last week.” Ellen looked at her grandmother +without flinching, though the pink was over her face and neck.</p> + +<p>“Yes'm, I did,” said she.</p> + +<p>“Well, I think it's about time it was put a stop to,” +said Mrs. Zelotes. “That Joy boy!”</p> + +<p>Then Fanny lost her temper. “I can manage my own daughter, +Grandma Brewster,” said she, “and I'll thank you to +attend to your own affairs.”</p> + +<p>“You don't seem to know enough to manage her,” +retorted Mrs. Zelotes, “if you let her go traipsin' round with +that Joy boy.”</p> + +<p>The warfare waged high for a time. Andrew withdrew to the kitchen. +Ellen took little Amabel up in her own chamber and showed her her +beautiful doll, which looked not a day older, so carefully had she +been cherished, than when she first had her. Ellen felt both +resentment and shame, and also a fierce dawning of partisanship +towards Granville Joy. “Why should my grandmother speak of him +so scornfully?” she asked herself. “He is a real good +boy.”</p> + +<p>That night was very cold, a night full of fierce white glitter of +frost and moonlight, and raging with a turbulence of winds. Ellen lay +awake listening to them. Presently between the whistle of the wind +she heard another, a familiar pipe from a boyish throat. She sprang +out of bed and peeped from her window, and there was a dark, slight +figure out in the yard, and he was looking up at her window, +whistling. Shame, and mirth, and also exultation, which overpowered +them both, stirred within the child's breast. She had read of things +like this. Here was her boy lover coming out this bitter night just +for the sake of looking up at her window. She adored him for it. Then +she heard a window raised with a violent rasp across the yard, and +saw her grandmother's night-capped head thrust forth. She heard her +shrill, imperious voice call out quite distinctly, “Boy, who be +you?”</p> + +<p>The lovelorn whistler ceased his pipe, and evidently, had he +consulted his own discretion, would have shown a pair of flying +heels, but he walked bravely up to the window and the night-capped +head and replied. Ellen could not hear what he said, but she +distinguished plainly enough her grandmother's concluding +remarks.</p> + +<p>“Go home,” cried Mrs. Zelotes; “go home just as +fast as you can and go to bed. Go home!” Mrs. Zelotes made a +violent shooting motion with her hands and her white head as if he +were a cat, and Granville Joy obeyed. However, Ellen heard his brave, +retreating whistle far down the road. She went back to bed, and lay +awake with a fervor of young love roused into a flame by opposition +swelling high in her heart. But the next afternoon, after school, +Ellen, to Granville Joy's great bliss and astonishment, insinuated +herself, through the crowd of out-going scholars, close to him, and +presently, had he not been so incredulous, for he was a modest boy, +he would have said it was by no volition of his own that he found +himself walking down the street with her. And when they reached his +house, which was only half-way to her own, she looked at him with +such a wistful surprise as he motioned to leave her that he could not +mistake it, and he walked on at her side quite to her own house. +Granville Joy was a gentle boy, young for his age, which was a year +more than Ellen's. He had a face as gentle as a girl's, and really +beautiful. Women all loved him, and the school-girls raised an +admiring treble chorus in his praise whenever his name was spoken. He +was saved from effeminacy by nervous impulses which passed for +sustained manly daring. “He once licked a boy a third bigger +than he was, and you needn't call him sissy,” one girl said +once to a decrying friend. To-day, as the boy and girl neared Mrs. +Zelotes's house, Granville was conscious of an inward shrinking +before the remembrance of the terrible old lady. He expected every +minute to hear the grating upward slide of the window and that old +voice, which had in it a terrible intimidation of feminine will. +Granville had a mother as gentle as himself, and a woman with the +strength of her own conviction upon her filled him with awe as of +something anomalous. He wondered uneasily what he should do if the +old lady were to hail him and call him to an account again, whether +it would be a more manly course to face her, or obey, since she was +Ellen's grandmother. He kept an uneasy eye upon the house, and +presently, when he saw the stern old face at the window, he quailed a +little. But Ellen for the first time in her life took his arm, and +the two marched past under the fire of Mrs. Zelotes's gaze. Ellen had +retaliated, not nobly, but as naturally under the conditions of her +life at that time as the branch of a tree blows east before the west +wind.</p> + +<div align="center"> +<a href="images/plimage4.jpg"> +<img src="images/plimage4.jpg" width="448" height="671" +alt="He found himself walking home from school with her"></a> +</div> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XVI</h3> + +<p>Ellen, when she graduated, was openly pronounced the flower of her +class. Not a girl equalled her, not a boy surpassed her. When Ellen +came home one night about two months before her graduation, and +announced that she was to have the valedictory, such a light of pure +joy flashed over her mother's face that she looked ten years +younger.</p> + +<p>“Well, I guess your father will be pleased enough,” +she said. She was hard at work, finishing women's wrappers of cheap +cotton. The hood industry had failed some time before, since the +hoods had gone out of fashion. The same woman had taken a contract to +supply a large firm with wrappers, and employed many in the +neighborhood, paying them the smallest possible prices. This woman +was a usurer on a scale so pitiful and petty that it almost condoned +usury. Sometimes a man on discovering the miserable pittance for +which his wife toiled during every minute which she could snatch from +her household duties and the care of her children, would inveigh +against it. “That woman is cheating you,” he would say, +to be met with the argument that she herself was only making ten +cents on a wrapper. Looked at in that light, the wretched profit of +the workers did not seem so out of proportion. It was usury in a +nutshell, so infinitesimal as almost to escape detection. Fanny +worked every minute which she could secure on these +wrappers—the ungainly, slatternly home-gear of other poor +women. There was an air of dejected femininity and slipshod drudgery +about every fold of one of them when it was hung up finished. Fanny +used to keep them on a row of hooks in her bedroom until a dozen were +completed, when she carried them to her employer, and Ellen used to +look at them with a sense of depression. She imagined worn, patient +faces of the sisters of poverty above the limp collars, and poor, +veinous hands dangling from the clumsy sleeves.</p> + +<p>Fanny would never allow Ellen to assist her in this work, though +she begged hard to do so. “Wait till you get out of +school,” said she. “You've got enough to do while you are +in school.”</p> + +<p>When Ellen told her about the valedictory, Fanny was so overjoyed +that she lost sight of her work, and sewed in the sleeves wrong. +“There, only see what you have made me do!” she cried, +laughing with delight at her own folly. “Only see, you have +made me sew in both these sleeves wrong. You are a great child. +Another time you had better keep away with your valedictories till I +get my wrapper finished.” Ellen looked up from the book which +she had taken.</p> + +<p>“Let me rip them out for you, mother,” she said.</p> + +<p>“No, you keep on with your study—it won't take me but +a minute. I don't know what your father will say. It is a great honor +to be chosen to write the valedictory out of that big class. I guess +your father will be pleased.”</p> + +<p>“I hope I can write a good one,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Well, if you can't, I'd give up my beat,” said the +mother, looking at her with enthusiasm, and speaking with scornful +chiding. “Why don't you go over and tell your grandmother +Brewster? She'll be tickled 'most to death.”</p> + +<p>Ellen had not been gone long when Andrew came home, coming into +the yard, bent as if beneath some invisible burden of toil. Just then +he had work, but not in Lloyd's. He had grown too old for Lloyd's, +and had been discharged long ago.</p> + +<p>He had so far been able to conceal from Fanny the fact that he had +withdrawn all his little savings to invest in that mining stock. The +stock had not yet come up, as he had expected. He very seldom had a +circular reporting progress nowadays. When he did have one in the +post-office his heart used to stand still until he had torn open the +envelope and read it. It was uniformly not so hopeful as formerly, +while speciously apologetic. Andrew still had faith, although his +heart was sick with its long deferring. He could not actually believe +that all his savings were gone, sunken out of sight forever in this +awful shaft of miscalculation and misfortune. What he dreaded most +was that Fanny should find out, as she would have to were he long out +of employment.</p> + +<p>Andrew, when he entered the house on his return from work, had +come to open a door into the room where his wife was, with a +deprecating and apologetic air. He gained confidence when, after a +few minutes, the sore subject had not been broached.</p> + +<p>To-night, as usual, when he came into the sitting-room where Fanny +was sewing it was with a sidelong glance of uneasy deprecation +towards her, and an attempt to speak easily, as if he had nothing on +his mind.</p> + +<p>“Pretty warm day,” he began, but his wife cut him +short. She faced around towards him beaming, her work—a pink +wrapper—slid from her lap to the floor.</p> + +<p>“What do you think, Andrew?” she said. “What do +you s'pose has happened? Guess.” Andrew laughed gratefully, +and with the greatest alacrity. Surely this was nothing about +mining-stocks, unless, indeed, she had heard, and the stocks had gone +up, but that seemed to much like the millennium. He dismissed that +from his mind before it entered. He stood before her in his worn +clothes. He always wore a collar and a black tie, and his haggard +face was carefully shaven. Andrew was punctiliously neat, on Ellen's +account. He was always thinking, suppose he should meet Ellen coming +home from school, with some young ladies whose fathers were rich and +did not have to work in the shop, how mortified she might feel if he +looked shabby and unkempt.</p> + +<p>“Guess, Andrew,” she said.</p> + +<p>“What is it?” said Andrew.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you guess.”</p> + +<p>“I don't see what it can be, Fanny.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Ellen has got the valedictory. What's the matter with +you? Be you deaf? Ellen has got the valedictory out of all them girls +and boys.”</p> + +<p>“She has, has she?” said Andrew. He dropped into a +chair and looked at his wife. There was something about the intense +interchange of confidence of delight between these two faces of +father and mother which had almost the unrestraint of lunacy. +Andrew's jaw fairly dropped with his smile, which was a silent laugh +rather than a smile; his eyes were wild with delight. “She has, +has she?” he kept repeating.</p> + +<p>“Yes, she has,” said Fanny. She tossed her head with +an incomparable pride; she coughed a little, affected cough. “I +s'pose you know what a compliment it is?” said she. “It +means that she's smarter than all them boys and girls—the +smartest one in her whole class.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I s'pose it does,” said Andrew. “So she +has got it! Well!”</p> + +<p>“There she comes now,” said Fanny, “and Grandma +Brewster.”</p> + +<p>Andrew borrowed money to buy a gold watch and chain for a +graduating gift for his daughter. He would scarcely have essayed +anything quite so magnificent, but Fanny innocently tempted him. The +two had been sitting in the door in the cool of the evening, one day +in June, about two weeks before the graduation, and had just watched +Ellen's light muslin skirts flutter out of sight. She had gone +down-town to purchase some ribbon for her graduating dress—she +and Floretta Vining, who had come over to accompany her. “I +feel kind of anxious to have her have something pretty when she +graduates,” Fanny said, speaking as if she were feeling her way +into a mind of opposition. Neither she nor Andrew had ever owned a +watch, and the scheme seemed to her breathless with magnificence.</p> + +<p>“Yes, she ought to have something pretty,” agreed +Andrew.</p> + +<p>“I don't want her to feel ashamed when she sees the other +girls' presents,” said Fanny.</p> + +<p>“That's so,” assented Andrew.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Fanny, “I've been +thinkin'—”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I've been thinkin' that—of course your mother +is goin' to give her the dress, and that's all, of course, and it's a +real handsome present. I ain't sayin' a word against that; but there +ain't anybody else to give her much except us. Poor Eva 'd like to, +but she can't; it takes all she earns, since Jim's out of work, and I +don't know what she's goin' to do. So that leaves nobody but us, and +I've been thinkin'—I dun'no' what you'll say, Andrew, but I've +been thinkin'—s'pose you took a little money out of the bank, +and—got Ellen—a watch.” Fanny spoke the last word +in a faint whisper. She actually turned pale in the darkness.</p> + +<p>“A watch?” repeated Andrew.</p> + +<p>“Yes, a watch. I've always wanted Ellen to have a gold watch +and chain. I've always thought she could, and so she could if you +hadn't been out of work so much.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, she could,” said Andrew—“a watch and +mebbe a piano. I thought I'd be back in Lloyd's before now. Well, +mebbe I shall before long. They say there's better times comin' by +fall.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Ellen will be graduated by that time,” said +Fanny, “and she ought to have the watch now if she's ever goin' +to. She'll never think so much of it. Floretta Vining is goin' to +have a watch, too. Mrs. Cross says her mother told her so; said Mr. +Vining had it all bought—a real handsome one. I don't believe +Sam Vining can afford to buy a gold watch. I don't believe it is all +gold, for my part. They 'ain't got as much as we have, if Sam has had +work steadier. I don't believe it's gold. I don't want Ellen to have +a watch at all unless it's a real good one. It seems to me you'd +better take a little money out and buy her one, Andrew.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I'll see,” said Andrew. He had a terrible sense +of guilt before Fanny. Suppose she knew that there was no money at +all in the bank to take out?</p> + +<p>“Well, I'll buy her one if you say so,” said he, in a +curious, slow, stern voice. In his heart was a fierce rising of +rebellion, that he, hard-working and frugal and self-denying all his +life, should be denied the privilege of buying a present for his +darling without resorting to deception, and even almost robbery. He +did not at that minute blame himself in the least for his +misadventure with his mining stock. Had not the same relentless +Providence driven him to that also? His weary spirit took for the +first time a poise of utter self-righteousness in opposition to this +Providence, and he blasphemed in his inner closet of self, before the +face of the Lord, as he comprehended it.</p> + +<p>“Well, I have a sort of set my heart on it,” said +Fanny.</p> + +<p>“She shall have the watch,” repeated Andrew, and his +voice was fairly defiant.</p> + +<p>After Fanny had gone into the house and lighted her lamp, and +resumed work on her wrapper, Andrew still sat on the step in the cool +evening. There was a full moon, and great masses of shadows seemed to +float and hover and alight on the earth with a gigantic brooding as +of birds. The trees seemed redoubled in size from the soft +indetermination of the moonlight which confused shadow and light, and +deceived the eye as with soft loomings out of false distances. There +was a tall pine, grown from a sapling since Ellen's childhood, and +that looked more like a column of mist than a tree, but the Norway +spruces clove the air sharply like silhouettes in ink, and outlined +their dark profiles clearly against the silver radiance.</p> + +<p>To Andrew, looking at it all, came the feeling of a traveller who +passes all scenes whether of joy or woe, being himself in his passing +the one thing which remains, and somehow he got from it an enormous +comfort.</p> + +<p>“We're all travellin' along,” he said aloud, in a +strained, solemn voice.</p> + +<p>“What did you say, Andrew?” Fanny called from the open +window.</p> + +<p>“Nothin',” replied Andrew.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XVII</h3> + +<p>Ellen had always had objective points, as it were, in her life, +and she always would have, no matter how long she lived. She came to +places where she stopped mentally, for retrospection and forethought, +wherefrom she could seem to obtain a view of that which lay behind, +and of the path which was set for her feet in advance. She saw the +tracked and the trackless. Once, going with Abby Atkins and Floretta +in search of early spring flowers, Ellen had lingered and let them go +out of sight, and had sat down on a springing mat of wintergreen +leaves under the windy outstretch of a great pine, and had remained +there quite deaf to shrill halloos. She had sat there with eyes of +inward scrutiny like an Eastern sage's, motionless as on a rock of +thought, while her daily life eddied around her. Ellen, sitting +there, had said to herself: “This I will always remember. No +matter how long I live, where I am, and what happens to me, I will +always remember how I was a child, and sat here this morning in +spring under the pine-tree, looking backward and forward. I will +never forget.”</p> + +<p>When, finally, Abby and Floretta had run back, and spied her +there, they had stared half frightened. “You ain't sick, are +you, Ellen?” asked Abby, anxiously.</p> + +<p>“What are you sitting there for?” asked Floretta.</p> + +<p>Ellen had replied that she was not sick, and had risen and run on, +looking for flowers, but the flowers for her bloomed always against a +background of the past, and nodded with forward flings of fragrance +into the future; for the other children, who were wholly of their own +day and generation, they bloomed in the simple light of their own +desire of possession. They picked only flowers, but Ellen picked +thoughts, and they kept casting bewildered side-glances at her, for +the look which had come into her eyes as she sat beneath the +pine-tree lingered.</p> + +<p>It was as if a rose had a second of self-consciousness between the +bud and the blossom; a bird between its mother's brooding and the +song. She had caught sight of the innermost processes of things, of +her wheels of life.</p> + +<p>Ellen waked up on that June morning, and the old sensation of a +pause before advance was upon her, and the strange solemnity which +was almost a terror, from the feeble clutching of her mind at the +comprehension of infinity. She looked at the morning sunlight coming +between the white slants of her curtains, an airy flutter of her new +dress from the closet, her valedictory, tied with a white satin +ribbon, on the stand, and she saw quite plainly all which had led up +to this, and to her, Ellen Brewster; and she saw also the +inevitableness of its passing, the precious valedictory being laid +away and buried beneath a pile of future ones; she saw the crowd of +future valedictorians advancing like a flock of white doves in their +white gowns, when hers was worn out, and its beauty gone, pressing +forward, dimming her to her own vision. She saw how she would come to +look calmly and coldly upon all that filled her with such joy and +excitement to-day; how the savor of the moment would pass from her +tongue, and she said to herself that she would always remember this +moment.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly—since she had in herself an impetus of motion +which nothing, not even reflection, could long check—she saw +quite plainly a light beyond, after all this should have passed, and +the leaping power of her spirit to gain it. And then, since she was +healthy, and given only at wide intervals to these Eastern lapses of +consciousness from the present, she was back in her day, and alive to +all its importance as a part of time.</p> + +<p>She felt the bounding elation of tossing on the crest of her wave +of success, and the full rainbow glory of it dazzled her eyes. She +was first in her class, she was valedictorian, she had a beautiful +dress, she was young, she was first. It is a poor spirit, and one +incapable of courage in defeat, who feels not triumph in victory. +Ellen was triumphant and confident. She had faith in herself and the +love and approbation of everybody.</p> + +<p>When she was seated with her class on the stage in the city hall, +where the graduating exercises were held, she saw herself just as she +looked, and it was with a satisfaction which had nothing weakly in +its vein, and smiled radiantly and innocently at herself as seen in +this mirror of love and appreciation of all who knew her.</p> + +<div align="center"> +<a href="images/plimage5.jpg"> +<img src="images/plimage5.jpg" width="457" height="698" +alt="The valedictory"></a> +</div> + +<p>When the band stopped playing, and Ellen, who as valedictorian +came last as the crown and capsheaf of it all, stepped forward from +the semicircle of white-clad girls and seriously abashed boys, there +was a subdued murmur and then a hush all over the hall. Andrew and +Fanny and the grandmother, seated directly in front of the +stage—for they had come early to secure good seats—heard +whispers of admiration on every side. It was admiration with no +dissent—such jealous ears as theirs could not be deceived. +Fanny's face was blazing with the sweet shame of pride in her child; +Andrew was pale; the grandmother sat as if petrified, with a proud +toss of her head. They looked straight ahead; they dared not +encounter each other's eyes, for they were more self-conscious than +Ellen. They felt the attention of the whole assembly upon them. +Andrew was conscious of feeling ill and faint. His own joy seemed to +overwhelm him. He forgot his stocks, he forgot his borrowed money, he +forgot Lloyd's; he was perfectly happy at the sight of that beautiful +young creature of his own heart, who was preferred before all others +in the sight of the whole city. In truth, there was about Ellen a +majesty and nobility of youth and innocence and beauty which +overawed. The other girls of the class were as young and as pretty, +but none of them had that indescribable quality which seemed to raise +her above them all. Ellen still kept her blond fairness, but there +was nothing of the doll-like which often characterizes the blond +type. Although she was small, Ellen's color had the firmness and +unwavering of tinted marble; she carried her crown of yellow braids +as if it had been gold; she moved and looked and spoke with decision. +The violent and intense temperament which she had inherited from two +sides of her family had crystallized in her to something more +forcible, but also more impressive. However, she was, after all, only +a young girl, scarcely more than a child, whatever her principle of +underlying character might be, and when she stood there before them +all—all her townspeople who represented her world, the human +shore upon which her own little individuality beat—when she saw +those attentive faces, row upon row, all fixed upon her, she felt her +heart pound against her side; she had no sensation of the roll of +paper in her hand; an awful terror as of suddenly discovered depths +came over her, as the wild clapping of hands to which her appearance +had given rise died away. Ellen stood still, holding the valedictory +as if it had been a stick. A little wondering murmur began to be +heard. Andrew felt as if he were dying. Fanny gripped his arm hard. +Mrs. Zelotes had the look of one about to spring. Ellen had the +terrible sensation which has in it a nightmare of inability to move, +allied with the intensest consciousness. She knew that she was to +read her valedictory, she knew that she must raise that +white-ribboned roll and read, or else be disgraced forever, and yet +she was powerless. But suddenly some compelling glance seemed to +arouse her from this lock of nerve and muscle; she raised her eyes, +and Cynthia Lennox, on the farther side of the hall, was gazing full +at her with an indescribable gaze of passion and help and command. +Her own mother's look could not have influenced her. Ellen raised her +valedictory, bowed, and began to read. Andrew looked so pale that +people nudged one another to look at him. Mrs. Zelotes settled back, +relaxing stiffly from her fierce attitude. Fanny wiped her forehead +with a cheap lace-bordered handkerchief. There was a stifled sob +farther back, that came from Eva Tenny, who sat back on account of a +break across the shoulders in the back of her silk dress. Amabel, +anæmic and eager in a little, tawdry, cheap muslin frock, sat +beside her, with worshipful eyes on Ellen. “What ailed +her?” she whispered, hitting her mother with a sharp little +elbow. “Hush up!” whispered Eva, angrily, surreptitiously +wiping her eyes. In front, directly in her line of vision, sat the +woman of whom she was jealous—the young widow, who had been +Aggie Bemis, arrayed in a handsome India silk and a flower-laden hat. +Eva's hat was trimmed with a draggled feather and a bunch of roses +which she had tried to color with aniline dye. When she got home that +night she tore the feather out of the hat and flung it across the +room. She wished to do it that afternoon every time she looked at the +other woman's roses against the smooth knot of her brown hair, and +that repressed impulse, with her alarm at Ellen's silence, had made +her almost hysterical. When Ellen's clear young voice rose and filled +the hall she calmed herself. Ellen had not folded back her first page +with a flutter of the white satin ribbons before people began to sit +straight and stare at each other incredulously. The subject of the +valedictory, as well as those of the other essays, had been allotted, +and Ellen's had been “Equality,” and she had written a +most revolutionary valedictory. Ellen had written with a sort of +poetic fire, and, crude as it all was, she might have had the +inspiration of a Shelley or a Chatterton as she stood there, raising +her fearless young front over the marshalling of her sentiments on +the smooth sheets of foolscap. Her voice, once started, rang out +clear and full. She had hesitated at nothing, she flung all castes +into a common heap of equality with her strong young arms, and she +set them all on one level of the synagogue. She forced the employer +and his employé to one bench of service in the grand system of +things; she gave the laborer, and the laborer only, the reward of +labor. As Ellen went on reading calmly, with the steadfastness of one +promulgating principles, not the excitement of one carried away by +enthusiasm, she began to be interrupted by applause, but she read on, +never wavering, her clear voice overcoming everything. She was quite +innocently throwing her wordy bomb to the agitation of public +sentiment. She had no thought of such an effect. She was stating what +she believed to be facts with her youthful dogmatism. She had no fear +lest the facts strike too hard. The school-master's face grew long +with dismay; he sat pulling his mustache in a fashion he had when +disturbed. He glanced uneasily now and then at Mr. Lloyd, and at +another leading manufacturer who was present. The other manufacturer +sat quite stolid and unsmiling beside a fidgeting wife, who presently +arose and swept out with a loud rustle of silks. She looked back once +and beckoned angrily to her husband, but he did not stir. He was on +the school-board. The school-master trembled when he saw that +imperturbable face of storing recollection before him. Mr. Lloyd +leaned towards Lyman Risley, who sat beside him and whispered and +laughed. It was quite evident that he did not consider the flight of +this little fledgling in the face of things seriously. But even he, +as Ellen's clearly delivered sentiments grew more and more +defined—almost anarchistic—became a little grave in spite +of the absurd incongruity between them and the girlish lips. Once he +looked in some wonder at the school-teacher as much as to say, +“Why did you permit this?” and the young man pulled his +mustache harder.</p> + +<p>When Ellen finished and made her bow, such a storm of applause +arose as had never before been heard at a high-school exhibition. The +audience was for the most part composed of factory employés +and their families, as most of the graduates were of that class of +the community. Many of them were of foreign blood, people who had +come to the country expecting the state of things advocated in +Ellen's valedictory, and had remained more or less sullen and +dissenting at the non-fulfilment of their expectation. One tall +Swede, with a lurid flashing of blue eyes under a thick, blond +thatch, led the renewed charges of applause. Red spots came on his +cheeks, gaunt with high cheekbones; his cold Northern blood was up. +He stood upreared against a background of the crowd under the +balcony; he stamped when the applause died low; then it swelled again +and again like great waves. The Swede brandished his long arms, he +shouted, others echoed him. Even the women hallooed in a frenzy of +applause, they clapped their hands, they stood up in their seats. +Only a few sat silent and contemptuous through all the enthusiasm. +Thomas Briggs, the manufacturer, was one of them. He sat like a rock, +his great, red, imperturbable face of dissent fixed straight ahead. +Mrs. Lloyd clapped wildly, on account of the girl who had read the +valedictory. She had slept through the greater part of it, for it was +very warm, and the heat always made her drowsy. She kept leaning +towards Cynthia as she clapped, and asking in a loud whisper if she +wasn't sweet. Cynthia did not applaud, but her delicate face was pale +with emotion. Lyman Risley, beside her, was clapping energetically. +“She may have a bomb somewhere concealed among those ribbons +and frills,” he said to Lloyd when the applause was waxing +loudest, and Lloyd laughed.</p> + +<p>As for Ellen, when the storm of applause burst at her feet, she +stood still for a moment bewildered. Then she bowed again and turned +to go, then the compelling uproar brought her back. She stood there +quite piteous in her confusion. This was too much triumph, and, +moreover, she had not the least idea of the true significance of it +all. She was like a chemist who had brought together, quite +ignorantly and unwittingly, the two elements of an explosive. She +thought that her valedictory must have been well done, that they +liked it, and that was all. She had no sooner finished reading than +the ushers began in the midst of the storm of applause to approach +the stage with her graduating presents. They were laden with great +bouquets and baskets of flowers, with cards conspicuously attached to +most of them. Cynthia Lennox had sent a basket of roses. Ellen took +it on her arm, and wondered when she saw the name attached to the +pink satin bow on the handle. She did not look again towards Cynthia +since the old impulse of concealment on her account came over her. +Ellen had great boxes of candy from her boy admirers, that being a +favorite token of young affection upon such occasions. She had a +gift-book from her former school-teacher, and a ninety-eight-cent +gilded vase from Eva and Amabel, who had been saving money to buy it. +She heard a murmur of admiration when she had finally reached her +seat, after the storm of applause had at last subsided, and she +unrolled the packages with trembling fingers.</p> + +<p>“My, ain't that handsome!” said Floretta, pressing her +muslin-clad shoulder against Ellen's. “My, didn't they clap +you, Ellen! What's that in that package?”</p> + +<p>The package contained Ellen's new watch and chain. Floretta had +already received hers, and it lay in its case on her lap. Ellen +looked at the package, not hearing in the least the Baptist minister +who had taken his place on the stage, and was delivering an address. +She had felt her aunt Eva's and Amabel's eager eyes on her when she +unrolled the gaudy vase; now she felt her father's and mother's. The +small, daintily tied package was inscribed “Ellen Brewster, +from Father and Mother.”</p> + +<p>“Why don't you open it?” came in her ear from +Floretta. Maria was leaning forward also, over her lapful of +carnations which John Sargent had presented to her.</p> + +<p>“Why don't she open it?” she whispered to Floretta. +They were all quite oblivious of the speaker, who moved nervously +back and forth in front of them, so screening them somewhat from the +observation of the audience. Still Ellen hesitated, looking at the +little package and feeling her father's and mother's eyes on her +face.</p> + +<p>Finally she untied the cord and took out the jeweller's case from +the wrapping-paper. “My, you've got one too, I bet!” +whispered Floretta. Ellen opened the box, and gazed at her watch and +chain; then she glanced at her father and mother down in the +audience, and the three loving souls seemed to meet in an ineffable +solitude in the midst of the crowd. All three faces were +pale—Ellen's began to quiver. She felt Floretta's shoulder warm +through her thin sleeve against hers.</p> + +<p>“My! you've got one—I said so,” she whispered. +“It isn't chased as much as mine, but it's real handsome. My, +Ellen Brewster, you ain't going to cry before all these +people!”</p> + +<p>Ellen smiled against a sob, and she gave her head a defiant toss. +Down in the audience Fanny had her handkerchief to her eyes, and +Andrew sat looking sternly at the speaker. Ellen said to herself that +she would not cry—she would not, but she sat gazing down at her +flower-laden lap and the presents. The golden disk under her fixed +eyes waxed larger and larger, until it seemed to fill her whole +comprehension as with a golden light of a suffering, self-denying +love which was her best reward of life and labor on the earth.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XVIII</h3> + +<p>After the exhibition there was a dance. The Brewsters, even Mrs. +Zelotes, remained to see the last of Ellen's triumph. Mrs. Zelotes +was firmly convinced that Ellen's appearance excelled any one's in +the hall. Not a girl swung past them in the dance but she eyed her +white dress scornfully, then her rosy face, and sniffed with high +nostrils like an old war-horse. “Jest look at that Vining +girl's dress, coarse enough to strain through,” she said to +Fanny, leaning across Andrew, who was sitting rapt, his very soul +dancing with his daughter, his eyes never leaving her one second, +following her fair head and white flutter of muslin ruffles and +ribbons around the hall.</p> + +<p>“Yes, that's so,” assented Fanny, but not with her +usual sharpness. A wistful softness and sweetness was on her coarsely +handsome face. Once she reached her hand over Andrew's and pressed +it, and blushed crimson as she did so. Andrew turned and smiled at +her. All that annoyed Andrew was that Ellen danced with Granville Joy +often, and also with other boys. It disturbed him a little, even +while it delighted him, that she should dance at all, that she should +have learned to dance. Andrew had been brought up to look upon +dancing as an amusement for Louds rather than for Brewsters. It had +not been in vogue among the aristocracy of this little New England +city when he was young.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Zelotes watched Ellen dance with inward delight and outward +disapproval. “I don't approve of dancing, never did,” she +said to Andrew, but she was furious once when Ellen sat through a +dance. Towards the end of the evening she saw with sudden alertness +Ellen dancing with a new partner, a handsome young man, who carried +himself with more assurance than the school-boys. Mrs. Zelotes hit +Andrew with her sharp elbow.</p> + +<p>“Who's that dancing with her now?” she said.</p> + +<p>“That's young Lloyd,” answered Andrew. He flushed a +little, and looked pleased.</p> + +<p>“Norman Lloyd's nephew?” asked his mother, +sharply.</p> + +<p>“Yes, he's on here from St. Louis. He's goin' into business +with his uncle,” replied Andrew. “Sargent was telling me +about it yesterday. Young Lloyd came into the post-office while we +were there.” Fanny had been listening. Immediately she married +Ellen to young Lloyd, and the next moment she went to live in a grand +new house built in a twinkling in a vacant lot next to Norman Lloyd's +residence, which was the wonder of the city. She reared this castle +in Spain with inconceivable swiftness, even while she was turning her +head towards Eva on the other side, and prodding her with an +admonishing elbow as Mrs. Zelotes had prodded Andrew. “That's +Norman Lloyd's nephew dancing with her now,” she said. Eva +looked at her, smiling. Directly the idea of Ellen's marriage with +the young man with whom she was dancing established full connections +and ran through the line of Ellen's relatives as though an electric +wire.</p> + +<p>As for Ellen, dancing with this stranger, who had been introduced +to her by the school-master, she certainly had no thought of a +possible marriage with him, but she had looked into his face with a +curious, ready leap of sympathy and understanding of this other soul +which she met for the first time. It seemed to her that she must have +known him before, but she knew that she had not. She began to reflect +as they were whirling about the hall, she gazed at that secret memory +of hers, which she had treasured since her childhood, and discovered +that what had seemed familiar to her about the young man was the face +of a familiar thought. Ever since Miss Cynthia Lennox had told her +about her nephew, the little boy who had owned and loved the doll, +Ellen had unconsciously held the thought of him in her mind. +“You are Miss Cynthia Lennox's nephew,” she said to young +Lloyd.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he replied. He nodded towards Cynthia, who was +sitting on the opposite side from the Brewsters, with the Norman +Lloyds and Lyman Risley. “She used to be like a mother to +me,” he said. “You know I lost my mother when I was a +baby.”</p> + +<p>Ellen nodded at him with a look of pity of that marvellous scope +which only a woman in whom the maternal slumbers ready to awake can +compass. Ellen, looking at the handsome face of the young man, saw +quite distinctly in it the face of the little motherless child, and +all the tender pity which she would have felt for that child was in +her eyes.</p> + +<p>“What a beautiful girl she is,” thought the young man. +He smiled at her admiringly, loving her look at him, while not in the +least understanding it. He had asked to be presented to Ellen from +curiosity. He had not been at the exhibition, and had heard the +school-master and Risley talking about the valedictory. “I +didn't know that you taught anarchy in school, Mr. Harris,” +Risley had said. He laughed as he said it, but Harris had colored +with an uneasy look at Norman Lloyd, whose face wore an expression of +amusement. “Perhaps I should have,” he began, but Lloyd +interrupted him. “My dear fellow,” he said, “you +don't imagine that any man in his senses could take seriously enough +to be annoyed by it that child's effusion on her nice little roll of +foolscap tied with her pretty white satin ribbon?”</p> + +<p>“She is just as sweet as she can be,” said Mrs. +Norman, “and I thought her composition was real pretty. Didn't +you, Cynthia?”</p> + +<p>“Very,” replied Cynthia.</p> + +<p>“What your are worrying about it for, Edward, I don't +see,” said Mrs. Norman to the school-master.</p> + +<p>“Well, I am glad if it struck you that way,” said he, +“but when I heard the applause from all those factory +people”—he lowered his voice, since a number were sitting +near—“I didn't know, but—” He hesitated.</p> + +<p>“That the spark that would fire the mine might be in that +pretty little beribboned roll of foolscap,” said Risley, +laughing. “Well, it was a very creditable production, and it +was written with the energy of conviction. The Czar and that little +school-girl would not live long in one country, if she goes on as she +has begun.”</p> + +<p>It was then that young Lloyd, who had just come in, and was +standing beside the school-master, turned eagerly to him, and asked +who the girl was, and begged him to present him.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps he'll fall in love with her,” said Mrs. +Norman, directly, when the two men had gone across the hall in quest +of Ellen. Her husband laughed.</p> + +<p>“You have not seen your aunt for a long time,” Ellen +said to young Lloyd, when they were sitting out a dance after their +waltz together.</p> + +<p>“Not since—I—I came on—with my father when +he died,” he replied. Again Ellen looked at him with that +wonderful pity in her face, and again the young man thought he had +never seen such a girl.</p> + +<p>“I think your aunt is beautiful,” Ellen said, +presently, gazing across at Cynthia.</p> + +<p>“Yes, she must have been a beauty when she was +young.”</p> + +<p>“I think she is now,” said Ellen, quite fervently, for +she was able to disabuse her mind of associations and rely upon pure +observation, and it was quite true that leaving out of the question +Cynthia's age and the memory of her face in stronger lights at closer +view, she was as beautiful from where they sat as some graceful +statue. Only clear outlines showed at that distance, and her soft +hair, which was quite white, lay in heavy masses around the intense +repose of her face.</p> + +<p>“Yes—s,” admitted Robert, somewhat hesitatingly. +“She used to think everything of me when I was a little +shaver,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Doesn't she now?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, I suppose she does, but it is different now. I am +grown up. A man doesn't need so much done for him when he is grown +up.”</p> + +<p>Then again he looked at Ellen with eyes of pleading which would +have made of the older woman what he remembered her to have been in +his childhood, and hers answered again.</p> + +<p>Robert did not say anything to her about the valedictory until +just before the close of the evening, when their last dance together +was over.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry I did not have a chance to hear your +valedictory,” he said. “I could not come +early.”</p> + +<p>Ellen blushed and smiled, and made the conventional school-girl +response. “Oh, you didn't miss anything,” said she.</p> + +<p>“I am sure I did,” said the young man, earnestly. Then +he looked at her and hesitated a little. “I wonder if you would +be willing to lend it to me?” he said, then. “I would be +very careful of it, and would return it immediately as soon as I had +read it. I should be so interested in reading it.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, if you wish,” said Ellen, “but I am +afraid you won't think it is good.”</p> + +<p>“Of course I shall. I have been hearing about it, how good +it was, and how you broke up the whole house.”</p> + +<p>Ellen blushed. “Oh, that was only because it was the +valedictory. They always clap a good deal for the +valedictory.”</p> + +<p>“It was because it was you, you dear beauty,” thought +the young man, gazing at her, and the impulse to take her in his arms +and kiss that blush seized upon him. “I know they applauded +your valedictory because it was worthy of it,” said he, and +Ellen's eyes fell before his, and the blush crept down over her +throat, and up to the soft toss of hair on her temples. The two were +standing, and the man gazed at Ellen's pink arms and neck through the +lace of her dress, those incomparable curves of youthful bloom shared +by a young girl and a rose; he gazed at that noble, fair head bent +not so much before him as before the mystery of life, of which a +perception had come to her through his eyes, and he said to himself +that there never was such a girl, and he also wondered if he saw +aright, he being one who seldom entirely lost the grasp of his own +leash. Having the fancy and the heart of a young man, he was given +like others of his kind to looking at every new girl who attracted +him in the light of a problem, the unknown quantity being her +possible interest for him, but he always worked it out calmly. He +kept himself out of his own shadow, when it came to the question of +emotions, in something the same fashion that his uncle Norman did. +Now, looking at Ellen Brewster with the whole of his heart setting +towards her in obedience to that law which had brought him into +being, he yet was saying quite coolly and loudly in his own inner +consciousness, “Wait, wait, wait! Wait until to-morrow, see how +you feel then. You have felt in much this way before. Wait! Perhaps +you don't see it as it is. Wait!”</p> + +<p>He realized his own wisdom all the more clearly when Ellen led him +to the settee where her relatives sat guarding her graduation +presents and her precious valedictory. She presented him gracefully +enough. Ellen knew nothing of society etiquette, she had never +introduced such a young gentleman as this to any one in her life, but +her inborn dignity of character kept her self-poise perfect. Still, +when young Lloyd saw the mother coarsely perspiring and fairly +aggressive in her delight over her daughter, when poor Andrew hoped +he saw him well, and Mrs. Zelotes eyed him with sharp approbation, +and Eva, conscious of her shabbiness, bowed with a stiff toss of her +head and sat back sullenly, and little Amabel surveyed him with +uncanny wisdom divided between himself and Ellen, he became conscious +of a slight disappearance of his glamour. He thanked Ellen most +heartily for the privilege which she granted him, when she took the +valedictory from the heap of flowers, and took his leave with a bow +which made Fanny nudge Andrew, almost before the young man's back was +turned.</p> + +<p>Then she looked at Ellen, but she said nothing. A sudden impulse +of delicacy prevented her. There was something about this beloved +daughter of hers which all at once seemed strange to her. She began +to associate her with the sacred mystery of life as she had never +done. Then, too, there was the more superficial association with one +of another class which she held in outward despite but inward +awe.</p> + +<p>Ellen gathered up her presents into her lap, and sat there a few +minutes through the last dance, which she had refused to Granville +Joy, who went away with nervous alertness for another girl, and +nobody spoke to her.</p> + +<p>When young Lloyd and Cynthia Lennox and the others left, as they +did directly, Fanny murmured, “They've gone,” and they +all knew what she meant. She was thinking—and so were they all, +except Ellen—that that was the reason, because he had to go, +that he had not asked Ellen for the last dance.</p> + +<p>As for Ellen, she sat looking at her gold watch and chain, which +she had taken out of the case. Her face grew intensely sober, and she +did not notice when young Lloyd left. All at once she had reflected +how her father had never owned a watch in his whole life, though he +was a man, but he had given one to her. She reflected how he had so +little work, how shabby his clothes were, how he must have gone +without himself to buy this for her, and the girl had such a heart of +gold that it rose triumphantly loyal to its first loves and +tendernesses, and her father's old, worn face came between her and +that of the young man who might become her lover.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XIX</h3> + +<p>The day after Ellen's graduation there might have been seen a +touching little spectacle passing along the main street of Rowe about +ten o'clock in the fore-noon. It was touching because it gave +evidence of that human vanity common to all, which strives to +perpetuate the few small, good things that come into the hard lives +of poor souls, and strives with such utter futility. Ellen held up +her fluffy skirts daintily, the wind caught her white ribbons and the +loose locks of her yellow hair under her white hat. She carried +Cynthia Lennox's basket of roses on her arm, and each of the others +was laden with bouquets. Little Amabel clasped both slender arms +around a great sheaf of roses; the thorns pricked through her thin +sleeves, but she did not mind that, so upborne with the elation of +the occasion was she. Her small, pale face gazed over the mass of +bloom with challenging of admiration from every one whom she met. She +was jealous lest any one should not look with full appreciation of +Ellen.</p> + +<p>Ellen was the one in the little procession who had not unmixed +delight in it. She had a certain shamefacedness about going through +the streets in such a fashion. She avoided looking at the people whom +she met, and kept her head slightly bent and averted, instead of +carrying it with the proud directness which was her habit. She felt +vaguely that this was the element of purely personal vanity which +degrades a triumph, and the weakness of delight and gloating in the +faces of her relatives irritated her. It was a sort of unveiling of +love, and the girl was sensitive enough to understand it. “Oh, +mother, I don't want to have us all go through the street with all +these flowers, and me in my white dress,” she had said. She had +looked at her mother with a shrinking in her eyes which was +incomprehensible to the other coarser-natured woman.</p> + +<p>“Nonsense,” she had said. “Sometimes you have +real silly notions, Ellen.” Fanny said it adoringly, for even +silliness in this girl was in a way worshipful to her. Ellen, with +her heart still softened almost to grief by the love shown her on the +day before, had yielded, but she was glad when they arrived at the +photograph studio. She had particularly dreaded passing Lloyd's, for +the thought came to her that possibly young Mr. Lloyd might see her. +She supposed that he was likely to be in the office. When they passed +the office-windows she looked the other way, but before she was well +past, her aunt Eva hit her violently and laughed loudly. Ellen +shrank, coloring a deep crimson. Then her mother also laughed, and +even Amabel, shrilly, with precocious recognition of the situation. +Only Mrs. Zelotes stalked along in silent dignity.</p> + +<p>“Don't laugh so loud, he'll hear you,” said she, +severely.</p> + +<p>“It was that young man who was at the hall last night, and +he was looking at you awful sharp,” said little Amabel to +Ellen, squeezing her warm arm, and sending out that shrill peal of +laughter again.</p> + +<p>“Don't, dear,” said Ellen. She felt humiliated, and +the more so because she was ashamed of being humiliated by her own +mother and aunt. “Why should I be so sensitive to things in +which they see no harm?” she asked herself, reprovingly.</p> + +<p>As for young Lloyd, he had, ever since he parted with the girl the +night before, that sensation of actual contact which survives +separation, and had felt the light pressure of her hand in his all +night, and along with it that ineffable pain of longing which would +draw the substance of a dream to actuality and cannot. He saw her +with her coarsely exultant relatives, the inevitable blur of her +environments, and felt himself not so much disillusioned as +confirmed. He had been constantly saying to himself, when the girl's +face haunted his eyes, and her hand in his own, that he was a fool, +that he had felt so before, that he must have, that there was no +sense in it, that he was Robert Lloyd, and she a good girl, a +beautiful girl, but a common sort of girl, born of common people to a +common lot. “Now,” he said to himself, with a kind of +bitter exultation, “there, I told you so.” The +inconceivable folly of that glance of the mother at him, then at +Ellen, and the meaning laughter, repelled him to the point of +disgust. He turned his back to the window and resumed his work, but, +in spite of himself, the pathos of the picture which he had seen +began to force itself upon him, and he thought almost tenderly and +forgivingly that she, the girl, had not once looked his way. He even +wondered, pityingly, if she had been mortified and annoyed by her +mother's behavior. A great anger on Ellen's behalf with her mother +seized upon him. How pretty she did look moving along in that little +flower-laden procession, he thought, how very pretty. All at once a +desire for the photograph which would be taken seized him, for he +divined the photograph. However, he said to himself that he would +send back the valedictory which he had not yet read by post, with a +polite note, and that would be the end.</p> + +<p>But it was only the next evening that Robert Lloyd with the +valedictory in hand got off the trolley-car in front of the Brewster +house. He had proved to himself that it was an act of actual rudeness +to return anything so precious and of so much importance to the owner +by the post, that he ought to call and deliver it in person. When he +regained his equilibrium from the quick sidewise leap from the car, +and stood hesitating a little, as one will do before a strange house, +for he was not quite sure as to his bearings, he saw a white blur as +of feminine apparel in the front doorway. He advanced tentatively up +the little path between two rows of flowering bushes, and Ellen +rose.</p> + +<p>“Good-evening, Mr. Lloyd,” she said, in a slightly +tremulous voice.</p> + +<p>“Oh, good-evening, Miss Brewster,” he cried, quickly. +“So I am right! I was not sure as to the house.”</p> + +<p>“People generally tell by the cherry-trees in the +yard,” replied Ellen, taking refuge from her timidity in the +security of commonplace observation, as she had done the night +before, giving thereby both a sense of disappointment and +elusiveness.</p> + +<p>“Won't you walk in?” she added, with the prim +politeness of a child who accosts a guest according to rule and +precept. Ellen had never, in fact, had a young man make a formal call +upon her before. She reflected now, both with relief and trepidation, +that her mother was away, having gone to her aunt Eva's. She had an +instinct which she resented, that her mother and this young man were +on two parallels which could never meet. Her father was at home, +seated in the south door with John Sargent and Nahum Beals and Joe +Atkins, but she never thought of such a thing as her father's +receiving a young man caller, though she would not have doubted so +much his assimilating with Robert Lloyd. She understood that the +young man might look at her mother with dissent, while she resented +it, but with her father it was different.</p> + +<p>The group of men at the south door were talking in loud, fervent +voices which seemed to rise and fall like waves. Nahum Beals's +strained, nervous tones were paramount. “Mr. Beals is talking +about the labor question, and he gets quite excited,” Ellen +remarked, somewhat apologetically, as she ushered young Lloyd into +the parlor.</p> + +<p>Lloyd laughed. “It sounds as if he were leading an +army,” he said.</p> + +<p>“He is very much in earnest,” said the girl.</p> + +<p>She placed painstakingly for her guest the best chair, which was a +spring rocker upholstered with crush-plush. The little parlor was +close and stuffy, and the kerosene-lamp, with the light dimmed by a +globe decorated with roses, heated the room still further. This lamp +was Fanny's pride. It had, in her eyes, the double glory of high art +and cheapness. She was fond of pointing at it, and inquiring, +“How much do you think that cost?” and explaining with +the air of one who expects her truth to be questioned that it only +cost forty-nine cents. This lamp was hideous, the shape was +aggressive, a discordant blare of brass, and the roses on the globe +were blasphemous. Somehow this lamp was the first thing which struck +Lloyd on entering the room. He could not take his eyes from it. As +for Ellen, long acquaintance had dulled her eyes. She sat in the full +glare of this hideous lamp, and Lloyd considered that she was not so +pretty as he had thought last night. Still, she was undeniably very +pretty. There was something in the curves of her shoulders, in her +pink-and-white cotton waist, that made one's fingers tingle, and +heart yearn, and there was an appealing look in her face which made +him smile indulgently at her as he might have done at a child. After +all, it was probably not her fault about the lamp, and lamps were a +minor consideration, and he was finical, but suppose she liked it? +Lloyd, sitting there, began to speculate if it were possible for +one's spiritual nature to be definitely damaged by hideous lamps. +Then he caught sight of a plate decorated with postage-stamps, with a +perforated edge through which ribbons were run, and he wondered if +she possibly made that.</p> + +<p>“They are undoubtedly perfectly moral people,” he told +his aunt Cynthia afterwards, “but I wonder that they keep such +an immoral plate.” However, that was before he fell in love +with Ellen, while he was struggling with himself in his desire to do +so, and making all manner of sport of himself by way of +hindrance.</p> + +<p>Ellen at that age could have had no possible conception of the +sentiment with which the young man viewed her environment. She was +sensitive to spiritual discords which might arise from meeting with +another widely different nature, but when it came to material things, +she was at a loss. Then, too, she was pugnaciously loyal to the +glories of the best parlor. She was innocently glad that she had such +a nice room into which to usher him. She felt that the marble-top +table, the plush lambrequin on the mantle-shelf, the gilded vases, +the brass clock, the Nottingham lace curtains, the olive-and-crimson +furniture, the pictures in cheap gilt frames, the heavily gilded +wall-paper, and the throws of thin silk over the picture corners must +prove to him the standing of her family. She felt an ignoble +satisfaction in it, for a certain measure of commonness clung to the +girl like a cobweb. She was as yet too young to bloom free of her +environment, her head was not yet over the barrier of her daily lot; +her heart never would be, and that was her glory. Young Lloyd handed +her the roll of valedictory as soon as he entered.</p> + +<p>“I am very much obliged to you for allowing me to read +it,” he said.</p> + +<p>Ellen took it, blushing. Her heart sank a little. She thought to +herself that he probably did not like it. She looked at him proudly +and timidly, like a child half holding, half withdrawing its hand for +a sweet. It suddenly came to her that she would rather this young man +would praise her valedictory than any one else, that if he had been +present when she read it in the hall, and she had seen him standing +applauding, she could not have contained her triumph and pride. She +was not yet in love with him, but she began to feel that in his +approbation lay the best coin of her realm.</p> + +<p>“It is very well written, Miss Brewster,” said Robert, +and she flushed with delight.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” she said.</p> + +<p>But the young man was looking at her as if he had something +besides praise in mind, and she gazed at him, shrinking a little as +before a blow whose motion she felt in the air. However, he laughed +pleasantly when he spoke.</p> + +<p>“Do you really believe that?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“What?” she inquired, vaguely.</p> + +<p>“Oh, all that you say in your essay. Do you really believe +that all the property in the world ought to be divided, that kings +and peasants ought to share and share alike?”</p> + +<p>She looked at him with round eyes. “Why, of course I +do!” she said. “Don't you?”</p> + +<p>Robert laughed. He had no mind to enter into an argument with this +beautiful girl, nor even to express himself forcibly on the opposite +side.</p> + +<p>“Well, there are a number of things to be considered,” +he said. “And do you really believe that employer and +employés should share alike?”</p> + +<p>“Why not?” said she.</p> + +<p>Her blue eyes flashed, she tossed her head. Robert smiled at +her.</p> + +<p>“Why not?” she repeated. “Don't the men earn the +money?”</p> + +<p>“Well, no, not exactly,” said Robert. “There is +the capital.”</p> + +<p>“The profit comes from the labor, not from the +capital,” said Ellen, quickly. “Doesn't it?” she +continued, with fervor, and yet there was a charming timidity, as +before some authority.</p> + +<p>“Possibly,” replied Robert, guardedly; “but the +question is how far we should go back before we stop in searching for +causes.”</p> + +<p>“How far back ought we to go?” asked Ellen, +earnestly.</p> + +<p>“I confess I don't know,” said Robert, laughingly. +“I have thought very little about it all.”</p> + +<p>“But you will have to, if you are to be the head of +Lloyd's,” Ellen said, with a severe accent, with grave, blue +eyes full on his face.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I am not the head of Lloyd's yet,” he answered, +easily. “My uncle is far from his dotage. Then, too, you know +that I was never intended for a business man, but a lawyer, like my +father, if there had not been so little for my father's second wife +and the children—” He stopped himself abruptly on the +verge of a confidence. “I think I saw you on your way to the +photographer to-day,” he said, and Ellen blushed, remembering +her aunt Eva's violent nudge, and wondering if he had noticed. She +gave him a piteous glance.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said. “All the girls have their +pictures taken in their graduating dresses with their +flowers.”</p> + +<p>“You looked to me as if the picture would be a great +success,” said Robert. He longed to ask for one and yet did +not, for a reason unexplained to himself. He knew that this innocent, +unsophisticated creature would see no reason on earth why he should +not ask, and no reason why she should not grant, and on that account +he felt prohibited. That night, after he had gone, Ellen wondered why +he had not asked for one of her pictures, and felt anxious lest he +should have seen the nudge.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she said to herself, “if he finds any +fault with anything that my mother has done, I don't want him to have +one.”</p> + +<p>Robert stayed a long time. He kept thinking that he ought to go, +and also that he was bored, and yet he felt a singular unwillingness +to leave, possibly because of his sense that the visit was in a +measure forbidden by prudence. The longer he remained, the prettier +Ellen looked to him. New beauties of line and color seemed to grow +apparent in the soft glow from the hideous lamp. There was a +wonderful starry radiance in her eyes now and then, and when she +turned her head her eyeballs gleamed crimson and her hair seemed to +toss into flame. When she spoke, he was conscious of unknown depths +of sweetness in her voice, and it was so with her smile and her every +motion. There was about the girl a mystery, not of darkness but of +light, which seemed to draw him on and on and on without volition. +And yet she said nothing especially remarkable, for Ellen was only a +young girl, reared in a little provincial city in common +environments. She would have been a great genius had she more than +begun to glimpse the breadth and freedom of the outer world through +her paling of life. She was too young and too unquestioning of what +she had learned from her early loves.</p> + +<p>“Have you always lived here in Rowe?” asked Lloyd.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said she. “I was born here, and I have +lived here ever since.”</p> + +<p>“And you have never been away?”</p> + +<p>“Only once. Once I went to Dragon Beach and stayed a +fortnight with mother.” She said this with a visible sense of +its importance. Dragon Beach was some ten miles from Rowe, a cheap +seashore place, built up with flimsy summer cottages of factory +hands. Andrew had hired one for a fortnight once when Ellen was +ailing, and it had been the event of a lifetime to the family. They +hereafter dated from the year “we went to Dragon +Beach.”</p> + +<p>Lloyd looked with a quick impulse of compassionate tenderness at +this child who had been away from Rowe once to Dragon Beach. He had +his own impressions of Dragon Beach and also of Rowe.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you enjoyed that?” said he.</p> + +<p>“Very much. The sea is beautiful.”</p> + +<p>So, after all, it was the sea which she had cared for at Dragon +Beach, and not the clam-bakes and merry-go-rounds and women in +wrappers in the surf. Robert felt rebuked for thinking of anything +but the sea in his memory of Dragon Beach; there was a wonderful +water-view there.</p> + +<p>All the time they sat there in the parlor, the murmur of +conversation at the south door continued, and now and again over it +swelled the fervid exhortations of Nahum Beals. Not a word could be +distinguished, but the meaning was beyond doubt. That voice was full +of denunciation, of frenzied appeal, of warning.</p> + +<p>“Who is it?” asked Lloyd, after an unusually loud +burst.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Beals,” replied Ellen, uneasily. She wished that +he would not talk so loud.</p> + +<p>“He sounds as if he were preaching fire and +brimstone,” said Robert.</p> + +<p>“No, he is talking about the labor question,” replied +Ellen.</p> + +<p>Then she looked confused, for she remembered that this young man's +uncle was the head of Lloyd's, that he himself would be the head of +Lloyd's some day. All at once, along with another feeling which +seemed about to conquer her, came a resentment against this young man +with his fine clothes and his gentle manners. Two men passed the +windows and one of them looked in, and when the electric-light +flashed on his face she saw Granville Joy, and the man with him was +in his shirt-sleeves. She saw those white shirt-sleeves swing into +the darkness, and felt at once antagonized against herself and +against Robert, and yet she knew that she had never seen a man like +him.</p> + +<p>“I suppose he has settled it,” said Robert.</p> + +<p>“I don't know,” replied Ellen.</p> + +<p>“He sounds dangerous.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no. He is a good man. He wouldn't hurt anybody. He has +always talked that way. He used to come here and talk when I was a +child. It used to frighten me at first, but it doesn't now. It is +only the way that poor people are treated that frightens +me.”</p> + +<p>Again Robert had a sensation of moving unobtrusively aside from a +direct encounter. He looked across the room and started at something +which he espied for the first time.</p> + +<p>“Pardon me,” he said, rising, “but I am +interested in dolls. I see you still keep your doll, Miss +Brewster.”</p> + +<p>Ellen sat stupefied. All at once it dawned upon her what might +happen. In the corner of the parlor sat her beloved doll, still +beloved, though the mother and not the doll had outgrown her first +condition of love. The doll, in the identical dress in which she had +come from Cynthia's so many years ago, sat staring forth with the +fixed radiance of her kind, seated stiffly in a tiny rocking-chair, +also one of the treasures of Ellen's childhood. It was a curious +feature for the best parlor, but Ellen had insisted upon it. +“She isn't going to be put away up garret because I have +outgrown her,” said she. “She's going to sit in the +parlor as long as she lives. Suppose I outgrew you, and put you up in +the garret; you wouldn't like it, would you, mother?”</p> + +<p>“You are a queer child,” Fanny had said, laughing, but +she had yielded.</p> + +<p>When young Lloyd went close to examine the doll, Ellen's heart +stood still. Suppose he should recognize it? She tried to tell +herself that it was impossible. Could any young man recognize a doll +after all those years? How much did a boy ever care for a doll, +anyway? Not enough to think of it twice after he had given it up. It +was different with a girl. Her doll meant—God only knew what +her doll meant to her; perhaps it had a meaning of all humanity. But +the boy, what had he cared for the doll? He had gone away out West +and left it.</p> + +<p>But Lloyd remembered. He stared down at the doll a moment. Then he +took her up gingerly in her fluffy pink robes of an obsolete fashion. +He held her at arm's length, and stared and stared. Suddenly he +parted the flaxen wig and examined a place on the head. Then he +looked at Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Why, it is my old doll,” he cried, with a great laugh +of wonder and incredulity. “Yes, it is my old doll! How in the +world did you come by my doll, Miss Brewster? Account for yourself. +Are you a child kidnapper?”</p> + +<p>Ellen, who had risen and come forward, stood before him, +absolutely still, and very pale.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is my doll,” said Lloyd, with another laugh. +“I will tell you how I know. Of course I can tell her face. +Dolls look a good deal alike, I suppose, but I tell you I loved this +doll, and I remember her face, and that little cast in her left eye, +and that beautiful, serene smile; but there's something besides. Once +I burned her head with the red-hot end of the poker to see if she +would wake up. I always had a notion when I was a child that it was +only a question of violence to make her wake up and demonstrate some +existence besides that eternal grin. So I burned her, but it made no +difference; but here is the mark now—see.”</p> + +<p>Ellen saw. She had often kissed it, but she made no reply. She was +occupied with considerations of the consequences.</p> + +<p>“How did you come by her, if you don't mind telling?” +said the young man again. “It is the most curious thing for me +to find my old doll sitting here. Of course Aunt Cynthia gave her to +you, but I didn't know that she was acquainted with you. I suppose +she saw a pretty little girl getting around without a doll after I +had gone, and sent her, but—”</p> + +<p>Suddenly between the young man's face and the girl's flashed a +look of intelligence. Suddenly Robert remembered all that he had +heard of Ellen's childish escapade. He <em>knew</em>. He looked from +her to the doll, and back again. “Good Lord!” he said. +Then he set the doll down in her little chair all of a heap, and +caught Ellen's hand, and shook it.</p> + +<p>“You are a trump, that is what you are,” he said; +“a trump. So she—” He shook his head, and looked +at Ellen, dazedly. She did not say a word, but looked at him with her +lips closed tightly.</p> + +<p>“It is better for you not to tell me anything,” he +said; “I don't want to know. I don't understand, and I never +want to, how it all happened, but I do understand that you are a +trump. How old were you?” Robert's voice took on a tone of +tenderness.</p> + +<p>“Eight,” replied Ellen, faintly.</p> + +<p>“Only a baby,” said the young man, “and you +never told! I would like to know where there is another baby who +would do such a thing.” He caught her hand and shook it again. +“She was like a mother to me,” he said, in a husky voice. +“I think a good deal of her. I thank you.”</p> + +<p>Suddenly to the young man looking at the girl a conviction as of +some subtle spiritual perfume came; he had seen her beauty before, he +had realized her charm, but this was something different. A boundless +approbation and approval which was infinitely more precious than +admiration seized him. Her character began to reveal itself, to come +in contact with his own; he felt the warmth of it through the veil of +flesh. He felt a sense of reliance as upon an inexhaustibility of +goodness in another soul. He felt something which was more than love, +being purely unselfish, with as yet no desire of possession. +“Here is a good, true woman,” he said to himself. +“Here is a good, true woman, who has blossomed from a good, +true child.” He saw a wonderful faithfulness shining in her +blue eyes, he saw truth itself on her lips, and could have gone down +at the feet of the little girl in the pink cotton frock. Going home +he tried to laugh at himself, but could not succeed. It is easy to +shake off the clasp of a hand of flesh, but not the clasp of another +soul.</p> + +<p>Ellen on her part was at once overwhelmed with delight and +confusion. She felt the fervor of admiration in the young man's +attitude towards her, but she was painfully conscious of her +undeservingness. She had always felt guilty about her silence and +disobedience towards her parents, and as for any self-approbation for +it, that had been the farthest from her thoughts. She murmured +something deprecatingly, but Lloyd cut her short.</p> + +<p>“It's no use crying off,” said he; “you are one +girl in a thousand, and I thank you, I thank you from the bottom of +my heart. It might have made awful trouble. My aunt Lizzie told me +what a commotion there was over it.”</p> + +<p>“I ran away,” said Ellen, anxiously. Suddenly it +occurred to her he might think Cynthia worse than she had been.</p> + +<p>“Never mind,” said Lloyd—“never mind. I +know what you did. You held your blessed little tongue to save +somebody else, and let yourself be blamed.”</p> + +<p>The door which led into the sitting-room opened, and Andrew looked +in.</p> + +<p>He made a shy motion when he saw Lloyd; still, he came forward. +His own callers had gone, and he had heard voices in the parlor, and +had feared Granville Joy was calling upon Ellen.</p> + +<p>As he came forward, Ellen introduced him shyly. “This is Mr. +Lloyd, father,” she said. “Mr. Lloyd, this is my +father.” Then she added, “He came to bring back my +valedictory.” She was very awkward, but it was the charming +awkwardness of a beautiful child. She looked exceedingly childish +standing beside her father, looking into his worn, embarrassed +face.</p> + +<p>Lloyd shook hands with Andrew, and said something about the +valedictory, which he had enjoyed reading.</p> + +<p>“She wrote it all herself without a bit of help from the +teacher,” said Andrew, with wistful pride.</p> + +<p>“It is remarkably well written,” said Robert.</p> + +<p>“You didn't hear it read at the hall?” said +Andrew.</p> + +<p>“No, I had not that good fortune.”</p> + +<p>“You ought to have heard them clap,” said Andrew.</p> + +<p>“Oh, father,” murmured Ellen, but she looked +innocently at her father as if she delighted in his pride and +pleasure without a personal consideration.</p> + +<p>The front door opened. “That's your mother,” said +Andrew.</p> + +<p>Fanny looked into the lighted parlor, and dodged back with a +little giggle.</p> + +<p>Ellen colored painfully. “It is Mr. Lloyd, mother,” +she said.</p> + +<p>Then Fanny came forward and shook hands with Robert. Her face was +flaming—she cast involuntary glances at Andrew for confirmation +of her opinion. She was openly and shamelessly triumphant, and yet +all at once Robert ceased to be repelled by it. Through his insight +into the girl's character, he had seemed to gain suddenly a clearer +vision for the depths of human love and pity which are beneath the +coarse and the common. When Fanny stood beside her daughter and +looked at her, then at Robert, with the reflection of the beautiful +young face in her eyes of love, she became at once pathetic and +sacred.</p> + +<p>“It is all natural,” he said to himself as he was +going home.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XX</h3> + +<p>Robert Lloyd when he came to Rowe was confronted with one of the +hardest tasks in the world, that of adjustment to circumstances which +had hitherto been out of his imagination. He had not dreamed of a +business life in connection with himself. Though he had always had a +certain admiration for his successful uncle, Norman Lloyd, yet he had +always had along with the admiration a recollection of the old tale +of the birthright and the mess of pottage. He had expected to follow +the law, like his father, but when he had finished college, about two +years after his father's death, he had to face the unexpected. The +stocks in which the greater part of the elder Lloyd's money had been +invested had depreciated; some of them were for the time being quite +worthless as far as income was concerned. There were two little +children—girls—by his father's second marriage, and there +was not enough to support them and their mother and allow Robert to +continue his reading for the law. So he pursued, without the +slightest hesitation, but with bitter regret, the only course which +he saw open before him. He wrote to his uncle Norman, and was +welcomed to a position in his factory with more warmth than he had +ever seen displayed by him. In fact, Norman Lloyd, who had no son of +his own, saw with a quickening of his pulses the handsome young +fellow of his own race who had in a measure thrown himself upon his +protection. He had never shared his wife's longing for children as +children, and had never cared for Robert when a child; but now, when +he was a man grown and bore his name, he appealed to him.</p> + +<p>Norman Lloyd was supposed to be heaping up riches, and wild +stories of his wealth were told in Rowe. He gave large sums to public +benefactions, and never stinted his wife in her giving within certain +limits. It would have puzzled any one when faced with facts to +understand why he had the name of a hard man, but he had it, whether +justly or not. “He's as hard as nails,” people said. His +employés hated him—that is, the more turbulent and +undisciplined spirits hated him, and the others regarded him as +slaves might a stern master. When Robert started his work in his +uncle's office he started handicapped by this sentiment towards his +uncle. He looked like his uncle, he talked like him, he had his same +gentle stiffness, he was never unduly familiar. He was at once placed +in the same category by the workmen.</p> + +<p>Robert Lloyd did not concern himself in the least as to what the +employés in his uncle's factory thought of him. Nothing was +more completely out of his mind. He was conscious of standing on a +firm base of philanthropic principle, and if ever these men came +directly under his control, he was resolved to do his duty by them so +far as in him lay.</p> + +<p><br>Ellen, since her graduation, had been like an animal which +circles about in its endeavors to find its best and natural place of +settlement.</p> + +<p>“What shall I do next?” she had said to her mother. +“Shall I go to work, or shall I try to find a school somewhere +in the fall, or shall I stay here, and help you with some work I can +do at home? I know father cannot afford to support me always at +home.”</p> + +<p>“I guess he can afford to support his only daughter at home +a little while after she has just got out of school,” Fanny had +returned indignantly, with a keen pain at her heart.</p> + +<p>Fanny mentioned this conversation to Andrew that night after Ellen +had gone to bed.</p> + +<p>“What do you think—Ellen was asking me this afternoon +what she had better do!” said she.</p> + +<p>“What she had better do?” repeated Andrew, vaguely. He +looked shrinkingly at Fanny, who seemed to him to have an accusing +air, as if in some way he were to blame for something. And, indeed, +there were times when Fanny in those days did blame Andrew, but there +was some excuse for her. She blamed him when her own back was filling +her very soul with the weariness of its ache as she bent over the +seams of those grinding wrappers, and when her heart was sore over +doubt of Ellen's future. At those times she acknowledged to herself +that it seemed to her that Andrew somehow might have gotten on +better. She did not know how, but somehow. He had not had an +expensive family. “Why had he not succeeded?” she asked +herself. So there was in her tone an unconscious recrimination when +she answered his question about Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Yes—what she had better go to work at,” said +Fanny, dryly, her black eyes cold on her husband's face.</p> + +<p>Andrew turned so white that he frightened her. “Go to +work!” said he. Then all at once he gave an exceedingly loud +and bitter groan. It betrayed all his pride in and ambition for his +daughter and his disgust and disappointment over himself. “Oh! +my God, has it come to this,” he groaned, “that I cannot +support my one child!”</p> + +<p>Fanny laid down her work and looked at him. “Now, +Andrew,” said she, “there's no use in your taking it +after such a fashion as this. I told Ellen that it was all +nonsense—that she could stay at home and rest this +summer.”</p> + +<p>“I guess, if she can't—” said Andrew. He dropped +his gray head into his hands, and began to sob dryly. Fanny, after +staring at him a moment, tossed her work onto the floor, went over to +him, and drew his head to her shoulder.</p> + +<p>“There, old man,” said she, “ain't you ashamed +of yourself? I told her there was no need for her to worry at +present. Don't do so, Andrew; you've done the best you could, and I +know it, if I stop to think, though I do seem sort of impatient +sometimes. You've always worked hard and done your best. It ain't +your fault.”</p> + +<p>“I don't know whether it is or not,” said Andrew, in a +high, querulous voice like a woman's. “It seems as if it must +be somebody's fault. If it ain't my fault, whose is it? You can't +blame the Almighty.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe it ain't anybody's fault.”</p> + +<p>“It must be. All that goes wrong is somebody's fault. It +can't be that it just happens—that would be worse than the +other. It is better to have a God that is cruel than one that don't +care, and it is better to be to blame yourself, and have it your +fault, than His. Somehow, I have been to blame, Fanny. I must have. +It would have been enough sight better for you, Fanny, if you'd +married another man.”</p> + +<p>“I didn't want another man,” replied Fanny, half +angrily, half tenderly. “You make me all out of patience, +Andrew Brewster. What's the need of Ellen going to work right away? +Maybe by-and-by she can get an easy school. Then, we've got that +money in the bank.”</p> + +<p>Andrew looked away from her with his face set. Fanny did not know +yet about his withdrawal of the money for the purpose of investing in +mining-stocks. He never looked at her but the guilty secret seemed to +force itself between them like a wedge of ice.</p> + +<p>“Then Grandma Brewster has got a little something,” +said Fanny.</p> + +<p>“Only just enough for herself,” said Andrew. Then he +added, fiercely, “Mother can't be stinted of her little +comforts even for Ellen.”</p> + +<p>“I 'ain't never wanted to stint your mother of her +comforts,” Fanny retorted, angrily.</p> + +<p>“She 'ain't got but a precious little, unless she spends her +principal,” said Andrew. “She 'ain't got more'n a hundred +and fifty or so a year clear after her taxes and insurance are +paid.”</p> + +<p>“I ain't saying anything,” said Fanny. “But I do +say you're dreadful foolish to take on so when you've got so much to +fall back on, and that money in the bank. Here you haven't had to +touch the interest for quite a while and it has been +accumulating.”</p> + +<p>It was agreed between the two that Ellen must say nothing to her +grandmother Brewster about going to work.</p> + +<p>“I believe the old lady would have a fit if she thought +Ellen was going to work,” said Fanny. “She 'ain't never +thought she ought to lift her finger.”</p> + +<p>So Ellen was charged on no account to say anything to her +grandmother about the possible necessity of her going to work.</p> + +<p>“Your grandmother's awful proud,” said Fanny, +“and she's always thought you were too good to work.”</p> + +<p>“I don't think anybody is too good to work,” replied +Ellen, but she uttered the platitude with a sort of mental +reservation. In spite of herself, the attitude of worship in which +she had always seen all who belonged to her had spoiled her a little. +She did look at herself with a sort of compunction when she realized +the fact that she might have to go to work in the shop some time. +School-teaching was different, but could she earn enough +school-teaching? There was a sturdy vein in the girl. All the time +she pitied herself she blamed herself.</p> + +<p>“You come of working-people, Ellen Brewster. Why are you any +better than they? Why are your hands any better than their hands, +your brain than theirs? Why are you any better than the other girls +who have gone to work in the shops? Do you think you are any better +than Abby Atkins?”</p> + +<p>And still Ellen used to look at herself with a pitying conviction +that she would be out of place at a bench in the shoe-factory, that +she would suffer a certain indignity by such a course. The +realization of a better birthright was strong upon her, although she +chided herself for it. And everybody abetted her in it. When she said +once to Abby Atkins, whom she encountered one day going home from the +shop, that she wondered if she could get a job in her room in the +fall, Abby turned upon her fiercely.</p> + +<p>“Good Lord, Ellen Brewster, you ain't going to work in a +shoe-shop?” she said.</p> + +<p>“I don't see why not as well as you,” returned +Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Why not?” repeated the other girl. “Look at +yourself, and look at us!”</p> + +<p>As she spoke, Ellen saw projected upon her mental vision herself +passing down the street with the throng of factory operatives which +her bodily eyes actually witnessed. She had come opposite Lloyd's as +the six o'clock whistle was blowing. She saw herself in her clean, +light summer frock, slight and dainty, with little hands like white +flowers in the blue folds of her skirt, with her fine, sensitive +outlook of fair face, and her dainty carriage; and she saw +others—those girls and women in dingy skirts and bagging +blouses, with coarse hair strained into hard knots of exigency from +patient, or sullen faces, according to their methods of bearing their +lots; all of them rank with the smell of leather, their coarse hands +stained with it, swinging their poor little worn bags which had held +their dinners. There were not many foreigners among them, except the +Irish, most of whom had been born in this country, and a sprinkling +of fair-haired, ruddy Swedes and keen Polanders, who bore themselves +better than the Americans, being not so apparently at odds with the +situation.</p> + +<p>The factory employés in Rowe were a superior lot, men and +women. Many of the men had put on their worn coats when they emerged +from the factory, and their little bags were supposed to disguise the +fact of their being dinner satchels. And yet there was a difference +between Ellen Brewster and the people among whom she walked, and she +felt it with a sort of pride and indignation with herself that it was +so.</p> + +<p>“I don't see why I should be any better than the +rest,” said she, defiantly, to Abby Atkins. “My father +works in a shop, and you are my best friend, and you do. Why +shouldn't I work in a shop?”</p> + +<p>“Look at yourself,” repeated the other girl, +mercilessly. “You are different. You ain't to blame for it any +more than a flower is to blame for being a rose and not a common +burdock. If you've got to do anything, you had better teach +school.”</p> + +<p>“I would rather teach school,” said Ellen, “but +I couldn't earn so much unless I got more education and got a higher +position than a district school, and that is out of the +question.”</p> + +<p>“I thought maybe your grandmother could send you,” +said Abby.</p> + +<p>“Oh no, grandma can't afford to. Sometimes I think I could +work my own way through college, if it wasn't for being a burden in +the mean time, but I don't know.”</p> + +<p>Suddenly Abby Atkins planted herself on the sidewalk in front of +Ellen, and looked at her sharply, while an angry flush overspread her +face.</p> + +<p>“I want to know one thing,” said she.</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“It ain't true what I heard the other day, is it?”</p> + +<p>“I don't know what you heard.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I heard you were going to be married.”</p> + +<p>Ellen turned quite pale, and looked at the other girl with a +steady regard of grave, indignant blue eyes.</p> + +<p>“No, I am not,” said she.</p> + +<p>“Well, don't be mad, Ellen. I heard real straight that you +were going to marry Granville Joy in the fall.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I am not,” repeated Ellen.</p> + +<p>“I didn't suppose you were, but I knew he had always wanted +you.”</p> + +<p>“Always wanted me!” said Ellen. “Why, he's only +just out of school!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I know that, and he's only just gone to work, and he +can't be earning much, but I heard it.”</p> + +<p>The stream of factory operatives had thinned; many had taken the +trolley-cars, and others had gone to the opposite side of the street, +which was shady. The two girls were alone, standing before a vacant +lot grown to weeds, rank bristles of burdock, and slender spikes of +evanescent succory. Abby burst out in a passionate appeal, clutching +Ellen's arm hard.</p> + +<p>“Ellen, promise me you never will,” she cried.</p> + +<p>“Promise you what, Abby?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, promise me you never will marry anybody like him. I +know it's none of my business—I know that is something that is +none of anybody's business, no matter how much they think of anybody; +but I think more of you than any man ever will, I don't care who he +is. I know I do, Ellen Brewster. And don't you ever marry a man like +Granville Joy, just an ordinary man who works in the shop, and will +never do anything but work in the shop. I know he's good, real good +and steady, and it ain't against him that he ain't rich and has to +work for his living, but I tell you, Ellen Brewster, you ain't the +right sort to marry a man like that, and have a lot of children to +work in shops. No man, if he thinks anything of you, ought to ask you +to; but all a man thinks of is himself. Granville Joy, or any other +man who wanted you, would take you and spoil you, and think he'd done +a smart thing.” Abby spoke with such intensity that it +redeemed her from coarseness. Ellen continued to look at her, and two +red spots had come on her cheeks.</p> + +<p>“I don't believe I'll ever get married at all,” she +said.</p> + +<p>“If you've got to get married, you ought to marry somebody +like young Mr. Lloyd,” said Abby.</p> + +<p>Then Ellen blushed, and pushed past her indignantly.</p> + +<p>“Young Mr. Lloyd!” said she. “I don't want him, +and he doesn't want me. I wish you wouldn't talk so, Abby.”</p> + +<p>“He would want you if your were a rich girl, and your father +was boss instead of a workman,” said Abby.</p> + +<p>Then she caught hold of Ellen's arm and pressed her own thin one +in its dark-blue cotton sleeve lovingly against it.</p> + +<p>“You ain't mad with me, are you, Ellen?” she said, +with that indescribable gentleness tempering her fierceness of nature +which gave her caresses the fascination of some little, untamed +animal. Ellen pressed her round young arm tenderly against the +other.</p> + +<p>“I think more of you than any man I know,” said she, +fervently. “I think more of you than anybody except father and +mother, Abby.”</p> + +<p>The two girls walked on with locked arms, and each was possessed +with that wholly artless and ignorant passion often seen between two +young girls. Abby felt Ellen's warm round arm against hers with a +throbbing of rapture, and glanced at her fair face with adoration. +She held her in a sort of worship, she loved her so that she was +fairly afraid of her. As for Ellen, Abby's little, leather-stained, +leather-scented figure, strung with passion like a bundle of electric +wire, pressing against her, seemed to inform her farthest +thoughts.</p> + +<p>“If I live longer than my father and mother, we'll live +together, Abby,” said she.</p> + +<p>“And I'll work for you, Ellen,” said Abby, +rapturously.</p> + +<p>“I guess you won't do all the work,” said Ellen. She +gazed tenderly into Abby's little, dark, thin face. “You're all +worn out with work now,” said she, “and there you bought +that beautiful pin for me with your hard earnings.”</p> + +<p>“I wish it had been a great deal better,” said Abby, +fervently.</p> + +<p>She had given Ellen a gold brooch for a graduating-gift, and had +paid a week's wages for it, and gone without her new dress, and +stayed away from the graduation, but that last Ellen never knew; Abby +had told her that she was sick.</p> + +<p><br>That evening Robert Lloyd and his aunt Cynthia Lennox called +on the Brewsters. Ellen was under the trees in the west yard when she +heard a carriage stop in front of the house and saw the sitting-room +lamp travel through the front entry to the front door. She wondered +indifferently who it was. Carriages were not given to stopping at +their house of an evening; then she reflected that it might be some +one to get her mother to do some sewing, and remained still.</p> + +<p>It was a bright moonlight night; the whole yard was a lovely +dapple of lights and shadows. Ellen had a vivid perception of the +beauty of it all, and also that unrest and yearning which comes often +to a young girl in moonlight. This beauty and strangeness of familiar +scenes under the silver glamour of the moon gave her, as it were, an +assurance of other delights and beauties of life besides those which +she already knew, and along with the assurance came that wild +yearning. Ellen seemed to scent her honey of life, and at the same +time the hunger for it leaped to her consciousness. She had begun by +thinking of what Abby had said to her that afternoon, and then the +train of thought led her on and on. She quite ignored all about the +sordid ways and means of existence, about toil and privation and +children born to it. All at once the conviction was strong upon her +that love, and love alone, was the chief end and purpose of life, at +once its source and its result, the completion of its golden ring of +glory. Her thought, started in whatever direction, seemed to slide +always into that one all-comprehending circle—she could not get +her imagination away from it. She began to realize that the mind of +mortal man could not get away from the law which produced it. She +began to understand dimly, as one begins to understand any great +truth, that everything around her obeyed that unwritten fundamental +law of love, expressed it, sounded it, down to the leaves of the +trees casting their flickering shadows on the silver field of +moonlight, and the long-drawn chorus of the insects of the summer +night. She thought of Abby and how much she loved her; then that love +seemed the step which gave her an impetus to another love. She began +to remember Granville Joy, how he had kissed her that night over the +fence and twice since, how he had walked home with her from +entertainments, how he had looked at her. She saw the boy's face and +his look as plain as if he stood before her, and her heart leaped +with a shock of pain which was joy.</p> + +<p>Then she thought of Robert Lloyd, and his face came before her. +Ellen had not thought as much of Robert as he of her. For some two +weeks after his call she had watched for him to come again; she had +put on a pretty dress and been particular about her hair, and had +stayed at home expecting him; then when he had not come, she had put +him out of mind resolutely. When her mother and aunt had joked her +about him she had been sensitive and half angry. “You know it +is nothing, mother,” she said; “he only came to bring +back my valedictory. You know he wouldn't think of me. He'll marry +somebody like Maud Hemingway.” Maud Hemingway was the daughter +of the leading physician in Rowe, and regarded with a mixture of +spite and admiration by daughters of the factory operatives. Maud +Hemingway was attending college, and rode a saddle-horse when home on +her vacations. She had been to Europe.</p> + +<p>But that evening in the moonlight Ellen began thinking again of +Robert Lloyd. His face came before her as plainly as Granville Joy's. +She had arrived at that stage when life began to be as a +picture-gallery of love. Through this and that face the goddess might +look, and the look was what she sought; as yet, the man was a minor +quantity.</p> + +<p>All at once it seemed to Ellen, looking at her mental picture of +young Lloyd, that she could see love in his face yet more plainly, +more according to her conception of it, than in the other. She began +to build an air-castle which had no reference whatever to Robert's +position, and to his being the nephew of the richest factory-owner in +Rowe, and so far as that went he had not a whit the advantage of +Granville Joy in her eyes. But Robert's face wore to her more of the +guise of that for which the night and the moonlight, and her youth, +had made her long. So she began innocently to imagine a meeting with +him at a picnic which would be held some time at Liberty Park. She +imagined their walking side by side, through a lovely dapple of +moonlight like this, and saying things to each other. Then all at +once the man of her dreams touched her hand in a dream, and a +faintness swept over her. Then suddenly, gathering shape out of the +indetermination of the shadows and the moonlight, came a man into the +yard, and Ellen thought with awe and delight that it was he; but +instead Granville Joy stood before her, lifting his hat above his +soft shock of hair.</p> + +<p>“Hullo!” he said.</p> + +<p>“Good-evening,” responded Ellen, and Granville Joy +felt abashed. He lay awake half the night reflecting that he should +have greeted her with a “Good-evening” instead of +“Hullo,” as he had been used to do in their school-days; +that she was now a young lady, and that Mr. Lloyd had accosted her +differently. Ellen rose with a feeling of disappointment that +Granville was himself, which is the hardest greeting possible for a +guest, involving the most subtle reproach in the world—the +reproach for a man's own individuality.</p> + +<p>“Oh, don't get up, Ellen,” the young man said, +awkwardly. “Here—I'll sit down here on the rock.” +Then he flung himself down on the ledge of rock which cropped out +like a bare rib of the earth between the trees, and Ellen seated +herself again in her chair.</p> + +<p>“Beautiful night, ain't it?” said Granville.</p> + +<p>Ellen noticed that Granville said “ain't” instead of +“isn't,” according to the fashion of his own family, +although he was recently graduated from the high-school. Ellen had +separated herself, although with no disparaging reflections, from the +language of her family. She also noticed that Granville presently +said “wa'n't” instead of “wasn't.” +“Hot yesterday, wa'n't it?” said he.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it was very warm,” replied Ellen. That +“wa'n't” seemed to insert a tiny wedge between them. She +would have flown at any one who had found fault with her father and +mother for saying “wa'n't,” but with this young man in +her own rank and day it was different. It argued something in him, or +a lack of something. An indignation all out of proportion to the +offence seized her. It seemed to her that he had in this simple +fashion outraged that which was infinitely higher than he himself. He +had not lived up to her thought of him, and fallen short by a little +slip in English which argued a slip in character. She wanted to +reproach him sharply—to ask him if he had ever been to +school.</p> + +<p>He noticed her manner was cool, and was as far as the antipodes +from suspecting the cause. He never knew that he said +“ain't” and “wa'n't,” and would die not +knowing. All that he looked at was the substance of thought behind +the speech. And just then he was farther than ever from thinking of +it, for he was single-hearted with Ellen.</p> + +<p>The boy crept nearer her on the rock with a shy, nestling motion; +the moonlight shone full on his handsome young face, giving it a +stern quality. “Ellen, look at here,” he said.</p> + +<p>Then he stopped. Ellen waited, not dreaming what was to follow. +She had never had a proposal; then, too, he had just been chased out +of her mental perspective by the other man.</p> + +<p>“Look at here, Ellen,” said Granville. He stopped +again; then when he spoke his voice had an indescribably solemn, +beseeching quality. “Oh, Ellen,” he said, reaching up and +catching her hand. He dragged himself nearer, leaned his cheek +against her hand, which it seemed to burn; then he began kissing it +with soft, pouting lips.</p> + +<p>Ellen tried to pull her hand away. “Let my hand go this +minute, Granville Joy,” she said, angrily.</p> + +<p>The boy let her hand go immediately, and stood up, leaning over +her.</p> + +<p>“Don't be angry; I didn't mean any harm, Ellen,” he +whispered.</p> + +<p>“I shall be angry if you do such a thing again,” said +Ellen. “We aren't children; you have no right to do such a +thing, and you know it.”</p> + +<p>“But I thought maybe you wouldn't mind, Ellen,” said +Granville. Then he added, with his voice all husky with emotion and a +kind of fear: “Ellen, you know how I feel about you. You know +how I have always felt.”</p> + +<p>Ellen made no reply. It seemed inconceivable that she for the +minute should not know his meaning, but she was bewildered.</p> + +<p>“You know I've always counted on havin' you for my wife some +day when we were both old enough,” said the boy, “and +I've gone to work now, and I hope to get bigger pay before long, +and—”</p> + +<p>Ellen rose with sudden realization. “Granville Joy,” +cried she, with something like panic in her voice, “you must +not! Oh, if I had known! I would not have let you finish. I would +not, Granville.” She caught his arm, and clung to it, and +looked up at him pitifully. “You know I wouldn't have let you +finish,” she said. “Don't be hurt, Granville.”</p> + +<p>The boy looked at her as if she had struck him.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Ellen,” he groaned. “Oh, Ellen, I always +thought you would!”</p> + +<p>“I am not going to marry anybody,” said Ellen. Her +voice wavered in spite of herself; the young man's look and voice +were shaking her through weakness of her own nature which she did not +understand, but which might be mightier than her strength. Something +crept into her tone which emboldened the young man to seize her hand +again. “You do, in spite of all you say—” he began; +but just then a long shadow fell athwart the moonlight, and Ellen +snatched her hand away imperceptibly, and young Lloyd stood before +them.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XXI</h3> + +<p>Granville Joy was employed in Lloyd's, and Robert had seen him +that very day and spoken to him, but he did not recognize him, not +until Ellen spoke. “This is Mr. Joy, Mr. Lloyd,” she +said; “perhaps you know him. He works in your uncle's +shop.” She said it quite simply, as if it was a matter of +course that Robert was on speaking terms with all the employés +in his uncle's factory.</p> + +<p>Granville colored. “I saw Mr. Lloyd this afternoon in the +cutting-room,” he said, “and we had some talk together; +but maybe he don't remember, there are so many of us.” +Granville said “so many of us” with an indescribably +bitter emphasis. Suddenly his gentleness seemed changed to gall. It +was the terrible protest of one of the herd who goes along with the +rest, yet realizes it, and looks ever out from his common mass with +fierce eyes of individual dissent at the immutable conditions of +things. Immediately, when Granville saw the other young man, this +gentleman in his light summer clothes, who bore about him no stain +nor odor of toil, he felt that here was Ellen's mate; that he was +left behind. He looked at him, not missing a detail of his +superiority, and he saw himself young and not ill-looking, but +hopelessly common, clad in awkward clothes; he smelled the smell of +leather that steamed up in his face from his raiment and his body; +and he looked at Ellen, fair and white in her dainty muslin, and saw +himself thrust aside, as it were, by his own judgment as to the +fitness of things, but with no less bitterness. When he said +“there are so many of us,” he felt the impulse of +revolution in his heart; that he would have liked to lead the +“many of us” against this young aristocrat. But Robert +smiled, though somewhat stiffly, and bowed. “I beg your pardon, +Mr. Joy,” he said; “I do remember, but for a minute I did +not.”</p> + +<p>“I don't wonder,” said Granville, and again he +repeated, “There are so many of us,” in that sullen, +bitter tone.</p> + +<p>“What is the matter with the fellow?” thought Robert; +but he said, civilly enough; “Oh, not at all, Mr. Joy. I will +admit there are a good many of you, as you say, but that would not +prevent my remembering a man to whom I was speaking only a few hours +ago. It was only the half-light, and I did not expect to see you +here.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Joy is a very old friend of mine,” Ellen said, +quickly, with a painful impulse of loyalty. The moment she saw her +old school-boy lover intimidated, and manifestly at a disadvantage +before this elegant young gentleman, she felt a fierce instinct of +partisanship. She stood a little nearer to him. Granville's face +lightened, he looked at her gratefully, and Robert stared from one to +the other doubtfully. He began to wonder if he had interrupted a +love-scene, and was at once pained with a curious, new pain, and +indignant. Then, too, he scarcely knew what to do. He had been sent +to ask Ellen to come into the parlor.</p> + +<p>“My aunt is in the house,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Your aunt?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my aunt, Miss Lennox.”</p> + +<p>Ellen gave a great start, and stared at him. “Does she want +to see me?” she asked, abruptly.</p> + +<p>Robert glanced at Granville. He was afraid of being rude towards +this possible lover, but the young man was quick to perceive the +situation.</p> + +<p>“I guess I must be going,” he said to Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Must you hurry?” she returned, in the common, polite +rejoinder of her class in Rowe.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I guess I must,” said Granville. He held out his +hand towards Ellen, then drew it away, but she extended hers +resolutely, and so forced his back again. “Good-night,” +she said, kindly, almost tenderly, and again Robert thought with that +sinking at his heart that here was quite possibly the girl's lover, +and all his dreams were thrown away.</p> + +<p>As for Granville, he glowed with a sudden triumph over the other. +Again he became almost sure that Ellen loved him after all, that it +was only her maiden shyness which had led her to refuse him. He +pressed her hand hard, and held it as long as he dared; then he +turned to Robert. “I'll bid you good-evening, sir,” he +said, with awkward dignity, and was gone.</p> + +<p>“I will go in and see your aunt,” Ellen said to +Robert, regarding him as she spoke with a startled expression. It had +flashed through her mind that Miss Lennox had possibly come to +confess the secret of so many years ago, and she shrank with terror +as before the lowering of some storm of spirit. She knew how little +was required to lash her mother's violent nature into fury. +“She was not—?” she began to say to Robert, then +she stopped; but he understood. “Don't be afraid, Miss +Brewster,” he said, kindly. “It is not a matter of +by-gones, but the future. My aunt has a plan for you which I think +you will like.”</p> + +<p>Ellen looked at him wonderingly, but she went with him across the +moonlit yard into the house.</p> + +<p>She found Miss Cynthia Lennox, fair and elegant in a filmy black +gown, and a broad black hat draped with lace and violets shading her +delicate, clear-cut face, and her father and mother. Fanny's eyes +were red. She looked as if she had been running—in fact, one +could easily hear her breathe across the room. “Ellen, here is +Miss Lennox,” she said. Ellen approached the lady, who rose, +and the two shook hands. “Good-evening, Miss Brewster,” +said Cynthia, in the same tone which she might have used towards a +society acquaintance. Ellen would never have known that she had heard +the voice before. As she remembered it, it was full of intensest +vibrations of maternal love and tenderness and protection beyond +anything which she had ever heard in her own mother's voice. Now it +was all gone, and also the old look from her eyes. Cynthia Lennox +was, in fact, quite another woman to the young girl from what she had +been to the child. In truth, she cared not one whit for Ellen, but +she was possessed with a stern desire of atonement, and far stronger +than her love was the appreciation of what that mother opposite must +have suffered during that day and night when she had forcibly kept +her treasure. The agony of that she could present to her +consciousness very vividly, but she could not awaken the old love +which had been the baby's for this young girl. Cynthia felt much more +affection for Fanny than for Ellen. When she had unfolded her plan +for sending Ellen to college, and Fanny had almost gone hysterical +with delight, she found it almost impossible to keep her tears back. +She knew so acutely how this other woman felt that she almost seemed +to lose her own individuality. She began to be filled with a +vicarious adoration of Ellen, which was, however, dissipated the +moment she actually saw her. She realized that this grown-up girl, +who could no longer be cuddled and cradled, was nothing to her, but +her sympathy with the mother remained.</p> + +<p>Ellen remained standing after she had greeted Cynthia. Robert went +over to the mantle-piece and stood leaning against it. He was +completely puzzled and disturbed by the whole affair. Ellen looked at +Cynthia, then at her parents. “Ellen, come here, child,” +said her father, suddenly, and Ellen went over to him, sitting on the +plush sofa beside her mother.</p> + +<p>Andrew reached up and took hold of Ellen's hands, and drew her +down on his knee as if she had been a child. “Ellen, look +here,” he said, in an intense, almost solemn voice, +“father has got something to tell you.”</p> + +<p>Fanny began to weep almost aloud. Cynthia looked straight ahead, +keeping her features still with an effort. Robert studied the carpet +pattern.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Ellen,” said Andrew; “you know that +father has always wanted to do everything for you, but he ain't able +to do all he would like to. God hasn't prospered him, and it seems +likely that he won't be able to do any more than he has done, if so +much, in the years to come. You know father has always wanted to send +you to college, and give you an extra education so you could teach in +a school where you would make a good living, and now here Miss Lennox +says she heard your composition, and she has heard a good deal about +you from Mr. Harris, how well you stood in the high-school, and she +says she is willing to send you to Vassar College.”</p> + +<p>Ellen turned pale. She looked long at her father, whose pathetic, +worn, half-triumphant, half-pitiful face was so near her own; then +she looked at Cynthia, then back again. “To Vassar +College?” she said.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Ellen, to Vassar College, and she offers to clothe you +while you are there, but we thank her, and tell her that ain't +necessary. We can furnish your clothes.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, we can,” said Fanny, in a sobbing voice, but +with a flash of pride.</p> + +<p>“Well, what do you say to it, Ellen?” asked Andrew, +and he asked it with the expression of a martyr. At that moment +indescribable pain was the uppermost sensation in his heart, over all +his triumph and gladness for Ellen. First came the anticipated agony +of parting with her for the greater part of four years, then the pain +of letting another do for his daughter what he wished to do himself. +No man would ever look in Ellen's eyes with greater love and greater +shrinking from the pain which might come of love than Andrew at that +moment.</p> + +<p>“But—” said Ellen; then she stopped.</p> + +<p>“What, Ellen?”</p> + +<p>“Can you spare me for so long? Ought I not to be earning +money before that, if you don't have much work?”</p> + +<p>“I guess we can spare you as far as all that goes,” +cried Andrew. “I guess we can. I guess we don't want you to +support us.”</p> + +<p>“I rather guess we don't,” cried Fanny.</p> + +<p>Ellen looked at her father a moment longer with an adorable look, +which Robert saw with a sidewise glance of his downcast eyes, then at +her mother. Then she slid from her father's knee and crossed the room +and stood before Cynthia. “I don't know how to thank you +enough,” she said, “but I thank you very much, and not +only for myself but for them”; she made a slight, graceful, +backward motion of her shoulder towards her parents. “I will +study hard and try to do you credit,” said she. There was +something about Ellen's direct, childlike way of looking at her, and +her clear speech, which brought back to Cynthia the little girl of so +many years ago. A warm flush came over her delicate cheeks; her eyes +grew bright with tenderness.</p> + +<div align="center"> +<a href="images/plimage6.jpg"> +<img src="images/plimage6.jpg" width="450" height="617" +alt="I'll study hard and try to do you credit"></a> +</div> + +<p>“I have no doubt as to your doing your best, my dear,” +she said, “and it gives me great pleasure to do this for +you.”</p> + +<p>With that, said with a graceful softness which was charming, she +made as if to rise, but Ellen still stood before her. She had +something more to say. “If ever I am able,” she +said—“and I shall be able some day if I have my +health—I will repay you.” Ellen spoke with the greatest +sweetness, yet with an inflexibility of pride evident in her face. +Cynthia smiled. “Very well,” she said, “if you feel +better to leave it in that way. If ever you are able you shall repay +me; in the mean time I consider that I am amply paid in the pleasure +it gives me to do it.” Cynthia held out her slender hand to +Ellen, who took it gratefully, yet a little constrainedly.</p> + +<p>In the opposite corner the doll sat staring at them with eyes of +blank blue and her vacuous smile. A vague sense of injury was over +Ellen, in spite of her delight and her gratitude—a sense of +injury which she could not fathom, and for which she chided herself. +However, Andrew felt it also.</p> + +<p>After this surprising benefactress and Robert had gone, after +repeated courtesies and assurances of obligation on both sides, +Andrew turned to Fanny. “What does she do it for?” he +asked.</p> + +<p>“Hush; she'll hear you.”</p> + +<p>“I can't help it. What does she do it for? Ellen isn't +anything to her.”</p> + +<p>Fanny looked at him with a meaning smile and nod which made her +tear-stained face fairly grotesque.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean lookin' that way?” demanded +Andrew.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you wait and see,” said Fanny, with meaning, and +would say no more. She was firm in her conclusion that Cynthia was +educating their girl to marry her favorite nephew, but that never +occurred to Andrew. He continued to feel, while supremely grateful +and overwhelmed with delight at this good fortune for Ellen, the +distrust and resentment of a proud soul under obligation for which he +sees no adequate reason, and especially when it is directed towards a +beloved one to whom he would fain give of his own strength and +treasure.</p> + +<p>As for Ellen, she was in a tumult of wonder and delight, but when +she looked at the doll in her corner there came again that vague +sense of injury, and she felt again as if in some way she were being +robbed instead of being made the object of benefit.</p> + +<p>After Ellen had gone to bed that night she wondered if she ought +to go to college, and maybe gain thereby a career which was beyond +anything her own loved ones had known, and if it were not better for +her to go to work in the shop after all.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XXII</h3> + +<p>When Mrs. Zelotes was made acquainted with the plan for sending +Ellen to Vassar she astonished Fanny. Fanny ran over the next +morning, after Andrew had gone to work, to tell her mother-in-law. +She sat a few minutes in the sitting-room, where the old lady was +knitting, before she unfolded the burden of her errand.</p> + +<p>“Cynthia Lennox came to our house last night with Robert +Lloyd,” she said, finally.</p> + +<p>“Did they?” remarked Mrs. Zelotes, who had known +perfectly well that they had come, having recognized the Lennox +carriage in the moonlight, and having been ever since devoured with +curiosity, which she would have died rather than betray.</p> + +<p>“Yes, they did,” said Fanny. Then she added, after a +pause which gave wonderful impressiveness to the news, “Cynthia +Lennox wants to send Ellen to college—to Vassar +College.”</p> + +<p>Then she jumped, for the old woman seemed to spring at her like +released wire.</p> + +<p>“Send her to college!” said she. “What does she +want to send her to college for? What right has Cynthia Lennox got to +send Ellen Brewster anywhere?”</p> + +<p>Fanny stared at her dazedly.</p> + +<p>“What right has she got interfering?” demanded Mrs. +Zelotes again.</p> + +<p>“Why,” replied Fanny, stammering, “she thought +Ellen was so smart. She heard her valedictory, and the school-teacher +had talked about her, what a good scholar she was, and she thought it +would be nice for her to go to college, and she should be very much +obliged herself, and feel that we were granting her a great pleasure +and privilege if we allowed her to send Ellen to Vassar.”</p> + +<p>All unconsciously Fanny imitated to the life Cynthia's soft +elegance of speech and language.</p> + +<p>“Pshaw!” said Mrs. Zelotes; but still she said it not +so much angrily as doubtfully. “It's the first time I ever +heard of Cynthia Lennox doing such a thing as that,” said she. +“I never knew she was given to sending girls to college. I +never heard of her giving anything to anybody.”</p> + +<p>Fanny looked mysteriously at her mother-in-law with sudden +confidence. “Look here,” she said.</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>The two women looked at each other, and neither said a word, but +the meaning of one flashed to the other like telegraphy.</p> + +<p>“Do you s'pose that's it?” said Mrs. Zelotes, her old +face relaxing into half-shamed, half-pleased smiles.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do,” said Fanny, emphatically.</p> + +<p>“You do?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I 'ain't a doubt of it.”</p> + +<p>“He did act as if he couldn't take his eyes off her at the +exhibition,” agreed Mrs. Zelotes, reflectively; “mebbe +you're right.”</p> + +<p>“I know I'm right just as well as if I'd seen it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, mebbe you are. What does Andrew say?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, he wishes he was the one to do it.”</p> + +<p>“Of course he does—he's a Brewster,” said his +mother.</p> + +<p>“But he's got sense enough to be pleased that Ellen has got +the chance.”</p> + +<p>“He ain't any more pleased than I be at anything that's a +good chance for Ellen,” said the grandmother; but all the same, +after Fanny had gone, her joy had a sharp sting for her. She was not +one who could take a gift to heart without feeling its sharp +edge.</p> + +<p>Had Ellen's sentiment been analyzed, she felt in something the +same way that her grandmother did. However, she had begun to dream +definitely about Robert, and the reflection had come, too, that this +might make her more his equal, as nearly his equal as Maud +Hemingway.</p> + +<p>Maud Hemingway went to college, and so would she. Of the minor +accessories of wealth she thought not so much. She looked at her +hands, which were very small and as delicately white as flowers, and +reflected with a sense of comfort, of which she was ashamed, that she +would not need ever to stain them with leather now. She looked at the +homeward stream of dingy girls from the shops, and thought with a +sense of escape that she would never have to join them; but she was +conscious of loving Abby better, and Maria, who had also entered +Lloyd's. Abby, when she heard the news about Vassar, had looked at +her with a sort of fierce exultation.</p> + +<p>“Thank the Lord, you're out of it, anyhow!” she cried, +fervently, as a soul might in the midst of flames.</p> + +<p>Maria had smiled at her with the greatest sweetness and a certain +wistfulness. Maria was growing delicate, and seemed to inherit her +father's consumptive tendencies.</p> + +<p>“I am so glad, Ellen,” she said. Then she added, +“I suppose we sha'n't see so much of you.”</p> + +<p>“Of course we sha'n't, Maria Atkins,” interposed Abby, +“and it won't be fitting we should. It won't be best for Ellen +to associate with shop-girls when she's going to Vassar +College.”</p> + +<p>But Ellen had cast an impetuous arm around a neck of each.</p> + +<p>“If ever I do such a thing as that!” said she. +“If ever I turn a cold shoulder to either of you for such a +reason as that! What's Vassar College to hearts? That's at the bottom +of everything in this world, anyhow. I guess you'll see it won't make +any difference unless you keep on thinking such things. If you +do—if you think I can do anything like that—I won't love +you so much.”</p> + +<p>Ellen faced them both with gathering indignation. Suddenly this +ignoble conception of herself in the minds of her friends stung her +to resentment. But Abby seized her in two wiry little arms.</p> + +<p>“I never did, I never did!” she cried. “Don't I +know what you are made of, Ellen Brewster? Don't you think I know? +But after all, it might be better for you if you were worse. That was +all I meant.”</p> + +<p>Ellen, one afternoon, set out in her pretty challis, a white +ground with long sprays of blue flowers running over it, and a blue +ribbon at her neck and waist, and her leghorn hat with white ribbons, +and a knot of forget-me-nots under the brim. She wore her one pair of +nice gloves, too, but those she did not put on until she reached the +corner of the street where Cynthia lived. Then she rubbed them on +carefully, holding up her challis skirts under one arm.</p> + +<p>Cynthia was at home, seated on the back veranda, in a rattan +chair, with a book which she was not reading. Ellen stood before her, +in her cheap attire, which she wore with an air which seemed to make +it precious, such faith she had in it. Ellen regarded her coarse +blue-flowered challis with an innocent admiration which seemed almost +able to glorify it into silk. Cynthia took in at a glance the +exceeding commonness of it all; she saw the hat, the like of which +could be seen in the milliners' windows at fabulously low prices; the +foam of spurious lace and the spray of wretched blue flowers made her +shudder. “The poor child, she must have something better than +that,” she thought, and insensibly she also thought that the +girl must lose her evident faith in the splendor of such attire; must +change her standard of taste. She rose and greeted Ellen sweetly, +though somewhat reservedly. When the two were seated opposite each +other, Cynthia tried to talk pleasantly, but all the time with a +sub-consciousness as one will have of some deformity which must be +ignored. The girl looked so common to her in this array that she +began to have a hopeless feeling of disgust about it all. Was it not +manifestly unwise to try to elevate a girl who took such evident +satisfaction in a gown like that, in a hat like that? Ellen wore her +watch and chain ostentatiously. The watch was too large for a +chatelaine, but she had looped the heavy chain across her bosom, and +pinned it with the brooch which Abby Atkins had given her, so it hung +suspended. Cynthia riveted her eyes helplessly upon that as she +talked.</p> + +<p>“I hope you are having a pleasant vacation,” said she, +as she looked at the watch, and all at once Ellen knew.</p> + +<p>Ellen replied that she was having a very pleasant vacation, then +she plunged at once into the subject of her call, though with inward +trembling.</p> + +<p>“Miss Lennox,” said she—and she followed the +lines of a little speech which she had been rehearsing to herself all +the way there—“I am very grateful to you for what you +propose doing for me. It will make a difference to me during my whole +life. I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I am.”</p> + +<p>“I am very grateful to be allowed to do it,” replied +Cynthia, with her unfailing refrain of gentle politeness, but a +kindly glance was in her eyes. Something in the girl's tone touched +her. It was exceedingly earnest, with the simple earnestness of +childhood. Moreover, Ellen was regarding her with great, steadfast, +serious eyes, like a baby's who shrinks and yet will have her will of +information.</p> + +<p>“I wanted to say,” Ellen continued—and her voice +became insensibly hushed, and she cast a glance around at the house +and the leafy grounds, as if to be sure that no one was within +hearing—“that I should never under any circumstances have +said anything regarding what happened so long ago. That I never have +and never should have, that I never thought of doing such a +thing.”</p> + +<p>Then the elder woman's face flushed a burning red, and she knew at +once what the girl had suspected. “You might proclaim it on the +house-tops if it would please you,” she cried out, vehemently. +“If you think—if you think—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I do not!” cried Ellen, in an agony of pleading. +“Indeed, I do not. It was only that—I—feared lest +you might think I would be mean enough to tell.”</p> + +<p>“I would have told, myself, long ago if there had been only +myself to consider,” said Cynthia, still red with anger, and +her voice strained. All at once she seemed to Ellen more like the +woman of her childhood. “Yes, I would,” said she, +hotly—“I will now.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I beg you not!” cried Ellen.</p> + +<p>“I will go with you this minute and tell your mother,” +Cynthia said, rising.</p> + +<p>Ellen sprang up and moved towards her as if to push her back in +her chair. “Oh, please don't!” she cried. “Please +don't. You don't know mother; and it would do no good. It was only +because I wondered if you could have thought I would tell, if I would +be so mean.”</p> + +<p>“And you thought, perhaps, I was bribing you not to tell, +with Vassar College,” Cynthia said, suddenly. “Well, you +have suspected me of something which was undeserved.”</p> + +<p>“I am very sorry,” Ellen said. “I did not +suspect, really, but I do not know why you do this for me.” +She said the last with her steady eyes of interrogation on Cynthia's +face.</p> + +<p>“You know the reasons I have given.”</p> + +<p>“I do not think they were the only ones,” Ellen +replied, stoutly. “I do not think my valedictory was so good as +to warrant so much, and I do not think I am so smart as to warrant so +much, either.”</p> + +<p>Cynthia laughed. She sat down again. “Well,” she said, +“you are not one to swallow praise greedily.” Then her +tone changed. “I owe it to you to tell you why I wish to do +this,” she said, “and I will. You are an honest girl, +with yourself as well as with other people—too honest, perhaps, +and you deserve that I should be honest with you. I am not doing this +for you in the least, my dear.”</p> + +<p>Ellen stared at her.</p> + +<p>“No, I am not,” repeated Cynthia. “You are a +very clever, smart girl, I am sure, and it will be a nice thing for +you to have a better education, and be able to take a higher place in +the world, but I am not doing it for you. When you were a little +child I would have done everything, given my life almost, for you, +but I never care so much for children when they grow up. I am not +doing this for you, but for your mother.”</p> + +<p>“My mother?” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Yes, your mother. I know what agony your mother must have +been in, that time when I kept you, and I want to atone in some way. +I think this is a good way. I don't think you need to hesitate about +letting me do it. You also owe a little atonement to your mother. It +was not right for you to run away, in the first place.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I was very naughty to run away,” Ellen said, +starting. She rose, and held out her hand. “I hope you will +forgive me,” she said. “I am very grateful, and it will +make my father and mother happier than anything else could, but +indeed I don't think—it is so long ago—that there was any +need—”</p> + +<p>“I do, for the sake of my own distress over it,” +Cynthia said, shortly. “Suppose, now, we drop the subject, my +dear. There is a taint in the New England blood, and you have it, and +you must fight it. It is a suspicion of the motives of a good deed +which will often poison all the good effect from it. I don't know +where the taint came from. Perhaps the Pilgrim Fathers', being +necessarily always on the watch for the savage behind his gifts, have +affected their descendants. Anyway, it is there. I suppose I have +it.”</p> + +<p>“I am very sorry,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>“I also am sorry,” said Cynthia. “I did you a +wrong, and your mother a wrong, years ago. I wonder at myself now, +but you don't know the temptation. You will never know how you looked +to me that night.”</p> + +<p>Cynthia's voice took on a tone of ineffable tenderness and +yearning. Ellen saw again the old expression in her face; suddenly +she looked as before, young and beautiful, and full of a boundless +attraction. The girl's heart fairly leaped towards her with an +impulse of affection. She could in that minute have fallen at her +feet, have followed her to the end of the world. A great love and +admiration which had gotten its full growth in a second under the +magic of a look and a tone shook her from head to foot. She went +close to Cynthia, and leaned over her, putting her round, young face +down to the elder woman's. “Oh, I love you, I love you,” +whispered Ellen, with a fervor which was strange to her.</p> + +<p>But Cynthia only kissed her lightly on her cheek, and pushed her +away softly. “Thank you, my dear,” she said. “I am +glad you came and spoke to me frankly, and I am glad we have come to +an understanding.”</p> + +<p>Ellen, after she had taken her leave, was more in love than she +had ever been in her life, and with another woman. She thought of +Cynthia with adoration; she dreamed about her; the feeling of +receiving a benefit from her hand became immeasurably sweet.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XXIII</h3> + +<p>Ellen, under the influence of that old fascination which Cynthia +had exerted over her temporarily in her childhood, and which had now +assumed a new lease of life, would have loved to see her every day, +but along with the fascination came a great timidity and fear of +presuming. She felt instinctively that the fascination was an +involuntary thing on Cynthia's part. She kept repeating to herself +what she had said, that she was not sending her to Vassar because she +loved her. Strangely enough, this did not make Ellen unhappy in the +least, she was quite content to do all the loving and adoring +herself. She made a sort of divinity of the older woman, and who +expects a divinity to step down from her marble heights, and love and +caress? Ellen began to remember all Cynthia's ways and looks, as a +scholar remembers with a view to imitation. She became her disciple. +She began to move like Cynthia, and to speak like her, though she did +not know it. Her imitation was totally unconscious; indeed, it was +hardly to be called imitation; it was rather the following out of the +leading of that image of Cynthia which was always present before her +mind. Ellen saw Cynthia very seldom. Once or twice she arrayed +herself in her best and made a formal call of gratitude, and once +Fanny went with her. Ellen saw the incongruity of her mother in +Cynthia's drawing-room with a torture which she never forgot. Going +home she clung hard to her mother's arm all the way. She was fairly +fierce with love and loyalty. She was so indignant with herself that +she had seen the incongruity. “I think our parlor is enough +sight prettier than hers,” she said, defiantly, when they +reached home and the hideous lamp was lighted. Ellen looked around +the ornate room, and then at her mother, as with a challenge in +behalf of loyalty, and of that which underlies externals.</p> + +<p>“I rather guess it is,” agreed Fanny, happily, +“and I don't s'pose it cost half so much. I dare say that mat +on her hearth cost as much as all our plush furniture and the carpet, +and it is a dreadful dull, homely thing.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>“I wish I'd been able to keep my hands as white as Miss +Lennox's, an' I wish I'd had time to speak so soft and slow,” +said Fanny, wistfully. Then Ellen had her by both shoulders, and was +actually shaking her with a passion to which she very seldom gave +rein.</p> + +<p>“Mother,” she cried—“mother, you know +better, you know there is nobody in the whole world to me like my own +mother, and never will be. It isn't being beautiful, nor speaking in +a soft voice, nor dressing well, it's the being +you—<em>you</em>. You know I love you best, mother, you know, +and I love my own home best, and everything that is my own best, and +I always will.” Ellen was almost weeping.</p> + +<p>“You silly child,” said Fanny, tenderly. “Mother +knows you love her best, but she wishes for your sake, and especially +since you are going to have advantages that she never had, that she +was a little different.”</p> + +<p>“I don't, I don't,” said Ellen, fiercely. “I +want you just as you are, just exactly as you are, mother.”</p> + +<p>Fanny laughed tearfully, and rubbed her coarse black head against +Ellen's lovingly with a curious, cat-like motion, then bade her run +away or she would not get her dress done. A dressmaker was coming for +a whole week to the Brewster house to make Ellen's outfit. Mrs. +Zelotes had furnished most of the materials, and Andrew was to pay +the dressmaker. “You can take a little more of that money out +of the bank,” Fanny said. “I want Ellen to go looking so +she won't be ashamed before the other girls, and I don't want Cynthia +Lennox thinking she ain't well enough dressed, and we ought to have +let her do it. As for being beholden to her for Ellen's clothes, I +won't.”</p> + +<p>“I rather guess not,” said Andrew, but he was sick at +heart. Only that afternoon the man from whom he had borrowed the +money to buy Ellen's watch and chain had asked him for it. He had not +a cent in advance for his weekly pay; he could not see where the +money for Ellen's clothes was coming from. It was long since the +“Golden Hope” had been quoted in the stock-list, but the +next morning Andrew purchased a morning paper. He had stopped taking +one regularly. He put on his spectacles, and spread out the paper in +his shaking hands, and scrutinized the stock-list eagerly, but he +could not find what he wanted. The “Golden Hope” had long +since dropped to a still level below all record of fluctuations. A +young man passing to his place at the bench looked over his shoulder. +“Counting up your dividends, Brewster?” he asked, with a +grin.</p> + +<p>Andrew folded up the paper gloomily and made no reply.</p> + +<p>“Irish dividends, maybe,” said the man, with a chuckle +at his own wit, and a backward roll of a facetious eye.</p> + +<p>“Oh, shut up, you're too smart to live,” said the man +who stood next at the bench. He was a young fellow who had been a +school-mate of Ellen in the grammar-school. He had left to go to work +when she had entered the high-school. His name was Dixon. He was wiry +and alert, with a restless sparkle of bright eyes in a grimy face, +and he cut the leather with lightning-like rapidity. Dixon had always +thought Ellen the most beautiful girl in Rowe. He looked after Andrew +with a sharp pain of sympathy when he went away with the roll of +newspaper sticking out of his pocket.</p> + +<p>“Poor old chap,” he said to the facetious man, +thrusting his face angrily towards him. “He has had a devil of +a time since he begun to grow old. You ought to be ashamed of +yourself. Wait till you begin to drop behind. It's what's bound to +come to the whole boiling of us.”</p> + +<p>“Mind your jaw,” said the first man, with a scowl.</p> + +<p>“You'd better mind yours,” said Dixon, slashing +furiously at the leather.</p> + +<p>That noon Dixon offered Andrew, shamefacedly, taking him aside +lest the other men see, a piece of pie of a superior sort which his +mother had put into his dinner bag, but Andrew thanked him kindly and +refused it. He could eat nothing whatever that noon. He kept thinking +about the dressmaker, and how Fanny would ask him again to take some +of that money out of the bank to pay her, and how the money was +already taken out.</p> + +<p>That evening, when he sat down to the tea-table furnished with the +best china and frosted cake in honor of the dressmaker, and heard the +radiant talk about Ellen's new frills and tucks, he had a cold +feeling at his heart. He was ashamed to look at the dressmaker.</p> + +<p>“You won't know your daughter when we get her fixed up for +Vassar,” she told Andrew, with a smirk which covered her face +with a network of wrinkles under her blond fluff of hair.</p> + +<p>“Do have some more cake, Miss Higgins,” said Fanny. +She was radiant. The image of her daughter in her new gowns had gone +far to recompense her for all her disappointments in life, and they +had not been few. “What, after all, did it matter?” she +asked herself, “if a woman was growing old, if she had to work +hard, if she did not know where the next dollar was coming from, if +all the direct personal savor was fast passing out of existence, when +one had a daughter who looked like that?” Ellen, in a new blue +dress, was ravishing. The mother looked at her when she was trying it +on, with the possession of love, and the dressmaker as if she herself +had created her.</p> + +<p>After supper Ellen had to try on the dress again for her father, +and turn about slowly that he might see all its fine points.</p> + +<p>“There, what do you think of that, Andrew?” asked +Fanny, triumphantly.</p> + +<p>“Ain't she a lady?” asked the dressmaker.</p> + +<p>“It is very pretty,” said Andrew, smiling with gloomy +eyes. Then he heaved a great sigh, and went out of the south door to +the steps. “Your father is tired to-night,” Fanny said to +Ellen with a meaning of excuse for the dressmaker.</p> + +<p>The dressmaker reflected shrewdly on Andrew's sigh when she was on +her way home. “Men don't sigh that way unless there's money to +pay,” she thought. “I don't believe but he has been +speculating.” Then she wondered if there was any doubt about +her getting her pay, and concluded that she would ask for it from day +to day to make sure.</p> + +<p>So the next night after tea she asked, with one of her smirks of +amiability, if it would be convenient for Mrs. Brewster to pay her +that night. “I wouldn't ask for it until the end of the +week,” said she, “but I have a bill to pay.” She +said “bill” with a murmur which carried conviction of its +deception. Fanny flushed angrily. “Of course,” said she, +“Mr. Brewster can pay you just as well every night if you need +it.” Fanny emphasized the “need” maliciously. Then +she turned to Andrew. “Andrew,” said she, “Miss +Higgins needs the money, if you can pay her for yesterday and +to-day.”</p> + +<p>Andrew turned pale. “Yes, of course,” he stammered. +“How much?”</p> + +<p>“Six dollars,” said Fanny, and in her tone was +unmistakable meaning of the dearness of the price. The dressmaker was +flushed, but her thin mouth was set hard. It was as much as to say, +“Well, I don't care so long as I get my money.” She was +unmarried, and her lonely condition had worked up her spirit into a +strong attitude of defiance against all masculine odds. She had once +considered men from a matrimonial point of view. She had wondered if +this one and that one wanted to marry her. Now she was past that, and +considered with equal sharpness if this one or that one wanted to +cheat her. She had missed men's love through some failing either of +theirs or hers. She did not know which, but she was determined that +she would not lose money. So she bore Fanny's insulting emphasis with +rigidity, and waited for her pay.</p> + +<p>Andrew pulled out his old pocket-book, and counted the bills. Miss +Higgins saw that he took every bill in it, unless there were some in +another compartment, and of that she could not be quite sure. But +Andrew knew. He would not have another penny until the next week when +he received his pay. In the meantime there was a bill due at the +grocery store, and one at the market, and there was the debt for +Ellen's watch. However, he felt as if he would rather owe every man +in Rowe than this one small, sharp woman. He felt the scorn lurking +within her like a sting. She seemed to him like some venomous insect. +He went out to the doorstep again, and wondered if she would want her +pay the next night when she went home.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XXIV</h3> + +<p>Ellen had a flower-garden behind the house, and a row of +sweet-peas which was her pride. It had occurred to her that she might +venture, although Cynthia Lennox had her great garden and +conservatories, to carry her a bunch of these sweet-peas. She had +asked her mother what she thought about it. “Why, of course, +carry her some if you want to,” said Fanny. “I don't see +why you shouldn't. I dare say she's got sweet-peas, but yours are +uncommon handsome, and, anyway, it ought to please her to have some +given her. It ain't altogether what's given, it's the +giving.”</p> + +<p>So Ellen had cut a great bouquet of the delicate flowers, +selecting the shades carefully, and set forth. She was as guiltily +conscious as a lover that she was making an excuse to see Miss +Lennox. She hurried along in delight and trepidation, her great +bouquet shedding a penetrating fragrance around her, her face +gleaming white out of the dusk. She had to pass Granville Joy's house +on her way, and saw with some dismay, as she drew near, a figure +leaning over the gate.</p> + +<p>He pushed open the gate when she drew near, and stood waiting.</p> + +<p>“Good-evening, Ellen,” he said. He was mindful not to +say “Hullo” again. He bowed with a piteous imitation of +Robert Lloyd, but Ellen did not notice it.</p> + +<p>“Good-evening,” she returned, rather stiffly, then she +added, in a very gentle voice, to make amends, that it was a +beautiful night.</p> + +<p>The young man cast an appreciative glance at the crescent moon in +the jewel-like blue overhead, and at the soft shadows of the +trees.</p> + +<p>“Yes, beautiful,” he replied, with a sort of +gratitude, as if the girl had praised him instead of the night.</p> + +<p>“May I walk along with you?” he asked, falling into +step with her.</p> + +<p>“I am going to take these sweet-peas to Miss Lennox,” +said Ellen, without replying directly.</p> + +<p>She was in terror lest Granville should renew his appeal of a few +weeks before, and she was in terror of her own pity for him, and also +of that mysterious impulse and longing which sometimes seized her to +her own wonder and discomfiture. Sometimes, in thinking of Granville +Joy, and his avowal of love, and the touch of his hand on hers, and +his lips on hers, she felt, although she knew she did not love him, a +softening of her heart and a quickening of her pulse which made her +wonder as to her next movement, if it might be something which she +had not planned. And always, after thinking of Granville, she thought +of Robert Lloyd; some mysterious sequence seemed to be established +between the two in the girl's mind, though she was not in love with +either.</p> + +<p>Ellen was just at that period almost helpless before the demands +of her own nature. No great stress in her life had occurred to awaken +her to a stanchness either of resistance or yielding. She was in the +full current of her own emotions, which, added to a goodly flood +inherited from the repressed passion of New England ancestors, had a +strong pull upon her feet. Sooner or later she would be given that +hard shake of life which precipitates and organizes in all strong +natures, but just now she was in a ferment. She walked along under +the crescent moon, with the young man at her side whose every thought +and imagination was dwelling upon her with love. She was conscious of +a tendency of her own imagination in his direction, or rather in the +direction of the love and passion which he represented, and all the +time her heart was filled with the ideal image of another woman. She +was prostrated with that hero-worship which belongs to young and +virgin souls, and yet she felt the drawing of that other admiration +which is more earthly and more fascinating, as it shows the jewel +tints in one's own soul as well as in the other.</p> + +<p>As for Granville Joy, who had scrubbed his hands and face well +with scented soap to take away the odor of the leather, and put on a +clean shirt and collar, being always prepared for the possibility of +meeting this dainty young girl whom he loved, he walked along by her +side, casting, from time to time, glances which were pure admiration +at the face over the great bunch of sweet-peas.</p> + +<p>“Don't you want me to carry them for you?” he +asked.</p> + +<p>“No, thank you,” replied Ellen. “They are +nothing to carry.”</p> + +<p>“They're real pretty flowers,” said Granville, +timidly.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I think they are.”</p> + +<p>“Mother planted some, but hers didn't come up. Mother has +got some beautiful nasturtiums. Perhaps you would like some,” +he said, eagerly.</p> + +<p>“No, thank you, I have some myself,” Ellen said, +rather coldly. “I'm just as much obliged to you.”</p> + +<p>Granville quivered a little and shrank as a dog might under a +blow. He saw this dainty girl-shape floating along at his side in a +flutter of wonderful draperies, one hand holding up her skirts with +maddening revelations of whiteness. If a lily could hold up her +petals out of the dust she might do it in the same fashion as Ellen +held her skirts, with no coarse clutching nor crumpling, not +immodestly, but rather with disclosures of modesty itself. Ellen's +wonderful daintiness was one of her chief charms. There was an +immaculateness about her attire and her every motion which seemed to +extend to her very soul, and hedged her about with the lure of +unapproachableness. It was more that than her beauty which roused the +imagination and quickened the pulses of a young man regarding +her.</p> + +<p>Granville Joy did not feel the earth beneath his feet as he walked +with Ellen. The scent of the sweet-peas came in his face, he heard +the soft rustle of Ellen's skirts and his own heart-beats. She was +very silent, since she did not wish him to go with her, though she +was all the time reproaching herself for it. Granville kept casting +about for something to say which should ingratiate him with her. He +was resolved to say nothing of love to her.</p> + +<p>“It is a beautiful night,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is,” agreed Ellen, and she looked at the +moon. She felt the boy's burning, timid, worshipful eyes on her face. +She trembled, and yet she was angry and annoyed. She felt in an +undefined fashion that she herself was the summer night and the +flowers and the crescent moon, and all that was fair and beautiful in +the whole world to this other soul, and shame seized her instead of +pride. He seemed to force her to a sight of her own pettiness, as is +always the case when love is not fully returned. She made an +impatient motion with the shoulder next Granville, and walked +faster.</p> + +<p>“You said you were going to Miss Lennox's,” he +remarked, anxiously, feeling that in some way he had displeased +her.</p> + +<p>“Yes, to carry her some sweet-peas.”</p> + +<p>“She must have been real good-looking when she was +young,” Granville said, injudiciously.</p> + +<p>“When she was young,” retorted Ellen, angrily. +“She is beautiful now. There is not another woman in Rowe as +beautiful as she is.”</p> + +<p>“Well, she is good-looking enough,” agreed Granville, +with unreasoning jealousy. He had not heard of Ellen's good fortune. +His mother had not told him. She was a tenderly sentimental woman, +and had always had her fancies with regard to her son and Ellen +Brewster. When she heard the news she reflected that it would perhaps +remove the girl from her boy immeasurably, that he would be pained, +so she said nothing. Every night when he came home she had watched +his face to see if he had heard.</p> + +<p>Now Ellen told him. “You know what Miss Cynthia Lennox is +going to do for me,” she said, abruptly, almost boastfully, she +was so eager in her partisanship of Cynthia.</p> + +<p>Granville looked at her blankly. They were coming into the +crowded, brilliantly lighted main street of the city, and their two +faces were quite plain to each other's eyes.</p> + +<p>“No, I don't,” said he. “What is it, +Ellen?”</p> + +<p>“She is going to send me to Vassar College.”</p> + +<p>Granville's face whitened perceptibly. There was a queer sound in +his throat.</p> + +<p>“To Vassar College!” he repeated.</p> + +<p>“Yes, to Vassar College. Then I shall be able to get a good +school, and teach, and help father and mother.”</p> + +<p>Granville continued to look at her, and suddenly an intense pity +sprang into life in the girl's heart. She felt as if she were looking +at some poor little child, instead of a stalwart young man.</p> + +<p>“Don't look so, Granville,” she said, softly.</p> + +<p>“Of course I am glad at any good fortune which can come to +you, Ellen,” Granville said then, huskily. His lips quivered a +little, but his eyes on her face were brave and faithful. Suddenly +Ellen seemed to see in this young man a counterpart of her own +father. Granville had a fine, high forehead and contemplative +outlook. He had been a good scholar. Many said that it was a pity he +had to leave school and go to work. It had been the same with her +father. Andrew had always looked immeasurably above his labor. She +seemed to see Granville Joy in the future just such a man, a finer +animal harnessed to the task of a lower, and harnessed in part by his +own loving faithfulness towards others. Ellen had often reflected +that, if it hadn't been for her and her mother, her father would not +have been obliged to work so hard. Now in Granville she saw another +man whom love would hold to the ploughshare. A great impulse of +loyalty as towards her own came over her.</p> + +<p>“It won't make any difference between me and my old friends +if I do go to Vassar College,” she said, without reflecting on +the dangerous encouragement of it.</p> + +<p>“You can't get into another track of life without its making +a difference,” returned Granville, soberly. “But I am +glad. God knows I'm glad, Ellen. I dare say it is better for you than +if—” He stopped then and seemed all at once to see +projected on his mirror of the future this dainty, exquisite girl, +with her fine intellect, dragging about a poor house, with wailing +children in arm and at heel, and suddenly a great courage of +renunciation came over him.</p> + +<p>“It <em>is</em> better, Ellen,” he said, in a loud +voice, like a hero's, as if he were cheering his own better impulses +on to victory over his own passions. “It is better for a girl +like you, than to—”</p> + +<p>Ellen knew that he meant to say, “to marry a fellow like +me.” Ellen looked at him, the sturdy backward fling of his +head and shoulders, and the honest regard of his pained yet +unflinching eyes, and a great weakness of natural longing for that +which she was even now deprecating nearly overswept her. She was +nearer loving him that moment than ever before. She realized +something in him which could command love—the renunciation of +love for love's sake.</p> + +<p>“I shall never forget my old friends, whatever +happens,” she said, in a trembling voice, and it might have all +been different had they not then arrived at Cynthia Lennox's.</p> + +<p>“Shall I wait and go home with you, Ellen?” Granville +asked, timidly.</p> + +<p>“No, thank you. I don't know how long I shall stay,” +Ellen replied. “You are real kind, but I am not a bit +afraid.”</p> + +<p>“It is sort of lonesome going past the shops.”</p> + +<p>“I can take a car,” Ellen said. She extended her hand +to Granville, and he grasped it firmly.</p> + +<p>“Good-night, Ellen; I am always glad of any good fortune +that may come to you,” he said.</p> + +<p>But Granville Joy, going alone down the brilliant street, past the +blaze of the shop-windows and the knots of loungers on the corners, +reflected that he had seen the fiery tip of a cigar on the Lennox +veranda, that it might be possible that young Lloyd was there, since +Miss Lennox was his aunt, and that possibly the aunt's sending Ellen +to Vassar might bring about something in that quarter which would not +otherwise have happened, and he writhed at the fancy of that sort of +good fortune for Ellen, but held his mind to it resolutely as to some +terrible but necessary grindstone for the refinement of spirit. +“It would be a heap better for her,” he said to himself, +quite loud, and two men whom he was passing looked at him curiously. +“Drunk,” said one to the other.</p> + +<p>When he was on his homeward way he overtook a slender girl +struggling along with a kerosene-can in one hand and a package of +sugar in the other, and, seeing that it was Abby Atkins, he possessed +himself of both. She only laughed and did not start. Abby Atkins was +not of the jumping or screaming kind, her nerves were so finely +balanced that they recovered their equilibrium, after surprises, +before she had time for manifestations. There was a curious +healthfulness about the slender, wiry little creature who was +overworked and under-fed, a healthfulness which seemed to result from +the action of the mind upon a meagre body.</p> + +<p>“Hullo, Granville Joy!” she said, in her good-comrade +fashion, and the two went on together. Presently Abby looked up in +his face.</p> + +<p>“Know about Ellen?” said she. Granville nodded.</p> + +<p>“Well, I'm glad of it, aren't you?” Abby said, in a +challenging tone.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am,” replied Granville, meeting her look +firmly.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he felt Abby's little, meagre, bony hand close over the +back of his, holding the kerosene-can. “You're a good fellow, +Granville Joy,” said she.</p> + +<p>Granville marched on and made no response. He felt his throat fill +with sobs, and swallowed convulsively. Along with this womanly +compassion came a compassion for himself, so hurt on his little field +of battle. He saw his own wounds as one might see a stranger's.</p> + +<p>“Think of Ellen dogging around to a shoe-shop like me and +the other girls,” said Abby, “and think of her draggin' +around with half a dozen children and no money. Thank the Lord she's +lifted out of it. It ain't you nor me that ought to grudge her +fortune to her, nor wish her where she might have been +otherwise.”</p> + +<p>“That's so,” said the young man.</p> + +<p>Abby's hand tightened over the one on the kerosene-can. “You +are a good fellow, Granville Joy,” she said again.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XXV</h3> + +<p>Robert Lloyd was sitting on the veranda behind the green trail of +vines when Ellen came up the walk. He never forgot the girl's face +looking over her bunch of sweet-peas. There was in it something +indescribably youthful and innocent, almost angelic. The light from +the window made her hair toss into gold; her blue eyes sought Cynthia +with the singleness of blue stars. It was evident whom she had come +to see. She held out her flowers towards her with a gesture at once +humble and worshipful, like that of some devotee at a shrine.</p> + +<p>She said “Good-evening” with a shy comprehensiveness, +then, to Cynthia, like a child, “I thought maybe you would like +some of my sweet-peas.”</p> + +<p>Both gentlemen rose, and Risley looked curiously from the young +girl to Cynthia, then placed his chair for her, smiling kindly.</p> + +<p>“The sweet-peas are lovely,” Cynthia said. +“Thank you, my dear. They are much prettier than any I have had +in my garden this year. Please sit down,” for Ellen was +doubtful about availing herself of the proffered chair. She had so +hoped that she might find Cynthia alone. She had dreamed, as a lover +might have done, of a tête-à-tête with her, what +she would say, what Cynthia would say. She had thought, and trembled +at the thought, that possibly Cynthia might kiss her when she came or +went. She had felt, with a thrill of spirit, the touch of Cynthia's +soft lips on hers, she had smelt the violets about her clothes. Now +it was all spoiled. She remembered things which she had heard about +Mr. Risley's friendship with Cynthia, how he had danced attendance +upon her for half a lifetime, and thought that she did not like him. +She looked at his smiling, grizzled, blond face with distrust. She +felt intuitively that he saw straight through her little subterfuge +of the flowers, that he divined her girlish worship at the shrine of +Cynthia, and was making fun of her.</p> + +<p>“Do you object to a cigar, Miss Brewster?” asked +Robert, and Risley looked inquiringly at her.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no,” replied Ellen, with the eager readiness of a +child to fit into new conditions. She thought of the sitting-room at +home, blue with the rank pipe-smoke of Nahum Beals and his kind. She +pictured them to herself sitting about on these warm evenings in +their shirt-sleeves, and she saw the two gentlemen in their light +summer clothes with their fragrant cigars at their lips, and all of a +sudden she realized that between these men and the others there was a +great gulf, and that she was trying to cross it. She did not realize, +as later, that the gulf was one of externals, and of width rather +than depth, but it seemed to her then that from one shore she could +only see dimly the opposite. A great fear and jealousy came over her +as to her own future accessibility to those of the other kind among +whom she had been brought up, like her father and Granville.</p> + +<p>Ellen felt all this as she sat beside Cynthia, who was casting +about in her mind, in rather an annoyed fashion, for something to say +to this young beneficiary of hers which should not have anything to +do with the benefit.</p> + +<p>Finally she inquired if she were having a pleasant vacation, and +Ellen replied that she was. Risley looked at her beautiful face with +the double radiance of the electric-light and the lamp-light from the +window on it, giving it a curious effect. It suddenly occurred to him +to wonder why everybody seemed to have such an opinion as to the +talents of this girl. Why did Cynthia consider that her native +ability warranted this forcible elevation of her from her own sphere +and setting her on a height of education above her kind? She looked +and spoke like an ordinary young girl. She had a beautiful face, it +is true, and her shyness seemed due to the questioning attitude of a +child rather than to self-consciousness, but, after all, why did she +give people that impression? Her valedictory had been clever, no +doubt, and there was in it a certain fire of conviction, which, +though crude, was moving; but, after all, almost any bright girl +might have written it. She had been a fine scholar, no doubt, but any +girl with a ready intelligence might have done as well. Whence came +this inclination of all to rear the child upon a pedestal? Risley +wondered, looking at her, narrowing his keen, light eyes under +reflective brows, puffing at his cigar; then he admitted to himself +that he was one with the crowd of Ellen's admirers. There was somehow +about the girl that which gave the impression of an enormous reserve +out of all proportion to any external evidence. “The child says +nothing remarkable,” he told Cynthia, after she had gone that +evening, “but somehow she gives me an impression of power to +say something extraordinary, and do something extraordinary. There is +electricity and steel behind that soft, rosy flesh of hers. But all +she does which is evident to the eye of man is to worship you, +Cynthia.”</p> + +<p>“Worship me?” repeated Cynthia, vaguely.</p> + +<p>“Yes, she has one of those aberrations common to her youth +and her sex. She is repeating a madness of old Greece, and following +you as a nymph might a goddess.”</p> + +<p>“It is only because she is grateful,” returned +Cynthia, looking rather annoyed.</p> + +<p>“Gratitude may be a factor in it, but it is very far from +being the whole of the matter. It is one of the spring madnesses of +life; but don't be alarmed, it will be temporary in the case of a +girl like that. She will easily be led into her natural track of +love. Do you know, Cynthia, that she is one of the most normal, +typical young girls I ever saw, and that makes me wonder more at this +impression of unusual ability which she undoubtedly gives. She has +all the weaknesses of her age and sex, she is much younger than some +girls of her age, and yet there is the impression which I cannot +shake off.”</p> + +<p>“I have it, too,” said Cynthia, rather +impatiently.</p> + +<p>“Cynthia Lennox, I don't believe you care in the least for +this young devotee of yours, for all you are heaping benefits upon +her,” Risley said, looking at her quizzically.</p> + +<p>“I am not sure that I do,” replied Cynthia, +calmly.</p> + +<p>“Then why on earth—?”</p> + +<p>Suddenly Cynthia began speaking rapidly and passionately, +straightening herself in her chair. “Oh, Lyman, do you think I +could do a thing like that, and not repent it and suffer remorse for +it all these years?” she cried.</p> + +<p>“A thing like that?”</p> + +<p>“Like stealing that child,” Cynthia replied, in a +whisper.</p> + +<p>“Stealing the child? You did not steal the child.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I did.”</p> + +<p>“Why, it was only a few hours that you kept her.”</p> + +<p>“What difference does it make whether you steal anything for +a few hours or a lifetime? I kept her, and she was crying for her +mother, and her mother was suffering tortures all that time. Then I +kept it secret all these years. You didn't know what I have suffered, +Lyman.”</p> + +<p>Cynthia regarded him with a wan look.</p> + +<p>Risley half laughed, then checked himself. “My poor girl, +you have the New England conscience in its worst form,” he +said.</p> + +<p>“You yourself told me it was a serious thing I was +doing,” Cynthia said, half resentfully. “One does not +wish one's sin treated lightly when one has hugged its pricks to +one's bosom for so long—it detracts from the dignity of +suffering.”</p> + +<p>“So I did, but all those years ago!”</p> + +<p>“If you don't leave me my remorse, how can I atone for the +deed?”</p> + +<p>“Cynthia, you are horribly morbid.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe you are right, maybe it is worse than morbid. +Sometimes I think I am unnatural, out of drawing, but I did not make +myself, and how can I help it?” Cynthia spoke with a pathetic +little laugh.</p> + +<p>She leaned her head back in her chair, and looked at a star +through a gap in the vines. The shadows of the leaves played over her +long, white figure. Again to Risley, gazing at her, came the +conviction as of subtle spiritual deformity in the woman; she was +unnatural in something the same fashion that an orchid is unnatural, +and it was worse, because presumably the orchid does not know it is +an orchid and regret not being another, more evenly developed, +flower, and Cynthia had a full realization and a mental mirror clear +enough to see the twist in her own character.</p> + +<p>Risley had never kissed her in his life, but that night, when they +parted, he laid a hand on her soft, gray hair, and smoothed it back +with a masculine motion of tenderness, leaving her white forehead, +which had a candid, childish fulness about the temples, bare. Then he +put his lips to it.</p> + +<p>“You are a silly girl, Cynthia,” he said.</p> + +<p>“I wish I were different, Lyman,” she responded, and, +he felt, with a double meaning.</p> + +<p>“I don't,” he said, and stroked her hair with a great +tenderness, which seemed for the time to quite fill and satisfy his +heart. He was a man of measureless patience, born to a firm +conviction of the journey's end.</p> + +<p>“There are worse things than loving a good woman your whole +life and never having her,” he said to himself as he went home, +but he said it without its full meaning. Risley's +“nerves” were always lighted by the lamp of his own hope, +which threw a gleam over unknown seas.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XXVI</h3> + +<p>Robert Lloyd accompanied Ellen home, though she had said timidly +that she was not in the least afraid, that she would not trouble any +one, that she could take a car. Cynthia herself had insisted that +Robert should escort her.</p> + +<p>“It's too late for you to be out alone,” she said, and +the girl seemed to perceive dimly a hedge of conventionality which +she had not hitherto known. She had often taken a car when she was +alone of an evening, without a thought of anything questionable. Some +of the conductors lived near Ellen, and she felt as if she were under +personal friendly escort. “I know the conductor on that car, +and it would take me right home, and I am not in the least +afraid,” she said to Robert, as the car came rocking down the +street when they emerged from Cynthia's grounds.</p> + +<p>“It's a lovely night,” Robert said, speaking quickly +as they paused on the sidewalk. “I am not going to let you go +alone, anyway. We will take the car if you say so, but what do you +say to walking? It's a lovely night.”</p> + +<p>It actually flashed through Ellen's mind—to such small +issues of finance had she been accustomed—that the young man +might insist upon paying her car-fare if he went with her on the +car.</p> + +<p>“I would like to walk, but I am sorry to put you to so much +trouble,” she said, a little awkwardly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I like to walk,” returned Robert. “I don't +walk half enough,” and they went together down the lighted +street. Suddenly to Ellen there came a vivid remembrance, so vivid +that it seemed almost like actual repetition of the time when she, a +little child, maddened by the sudden awakening of the depths of her +nature, had come down this same street. She saw that same brilliant +market-window where she had stopped and stared, to the momentary +forgetfulness of her troubles in the spectacular display of that +which was entirely outside them. Curiously enough, Robert drew her to +a full stop that night before the same window. It was one of those +strange cases of apparent telepathy which one sometimes notices. When +Ellen looked at the market-window, with a flash of reminiscence, +Robert immediately drew her to a stop before it. “That is quite +a study in color,” he said. “I fancy there are a good +many unrecognized artists among market-men.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is really beautiful,” agreed Ellen, looking +at it with eyes which had changed very little from their childish +outlook. Again she saw more than she saw. The window differed +materially from that before which she had stood fascinated so many +years ago, for that was in a different season. Instead of frozen game +and winter vegetables, were the products of summer gardens, and +fruits, and berries. The color scheme was dazzling with great heaps +of tomatoes, and long, emerald ears of corn, and baskets of apples, +and gold crooks of summer squashes, and speckled pods of beans.</p> + +<p>“Suppose,” said Robert, as they walked on, “that +all the market-men who had artistic tastes had art educations and set +up studios and painted pictures, who would keep the +markets?”</p> + +<p>He spoke gayly. His manner that night was younger and merrier than +Ellen had ever seen it. She was naturally rather grave herself. What +she had seen of life had rather disposed her to a hush of respect +than to hilarity, but somehow his mood began to infect her.</p> + +<p>“I don't know,” she answered, laughing, “I +suppose somebody would keep the markets.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but they would not be as good markets. That is, they +would not do as artistic markets, and they would not serve the higher +purpose of catering to the artistic taste of man, as well as to his +bodily needs.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps a picture like that is just as well and better than +it would be painted and hung on a wall,” Ellen admitted, +reflectively.</p> + +<p>“Just so—why is it not?” Robert said, in a +pleased voice.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I think it is,” said Ellen. “I do think it +is better, because everybody can see it there. Ever so many people +will see it there who would not go to picture-galleries to see it, +and then—”</p> + +<p>“And then it may go far to dignify their daily needs,” +said Robert. “For instance, a poor man about to buy his +to-morrow's dinner may feel his soul take a little fly above the +prices of turnips and cabbages.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe,” said Ellen, but doubtfully.</p> + +<p>“Don't you think so?”</p> + +<p>“The prices of turnips and cabbages may crowd other things +out,” Ellen replied, and her tone was sad, almost tragic. +“You see I am right in it, Mr. Lloyd,” she said, +earnestly.</p> + +<p>“You mean right in the midst of the kind of people whom +necessity forces to neglect the æsthetic for the purely +useful?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Ellen. Then she added, in an indescribably +pathetic voice, “People have to live first before they can see, +and they can't think until they are fed, and one needs always to have +had enough turnips and cabbages to eat without troubling about the +getting them, in order to see in them anything except +food.”</p> + +<p>Lloyd looked at her curiously. “Decidedly this child can +think,” he reflected. He shrugged his arm, on which Ellen's +hand lay, a little closer to his side.</p> + +<p>Just then they were passing the great factories—Lloyd's, and +Briggs's, and Maguire's. Many of the windows in Briggs's and +Maguire's reflected light from the moon and the electric-lamps on the +street. Lloyd's was all dark except for one brilliant spark of light, +which seemed to be threading the building like a will-o'-the-wisp. +“That is the night-watchman,” said Robert. “He must +have a dull time of it.”</p> + +<p>“I should think he might be afraid,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Afraid of what?”</p> + +<p>“Of ghosts.”</p> + +<p>“Ghosts in a shoe-shop?” asked Robert, laughing.</p> + +<p>“I don't believe there has been another building in the +whole city which has held so many heart-aches, and I always wondered +if they didn't make ghosts instead of dead people,” Ellen +said.</p> + +<p>“Do you think they have such a hard time?”</p> + +<p>“I know they do,” said Ellen. “I think I ate the +knowledge along with my first daily bread.”</p> + +<p>Robert Lloyd looked down at the light, girlish figure on his arm, +and again the resolution that he would not talk on such topics with a +young girl like this came over him. He felt a reluctance to do so +which was quite apart from his masculine scorn of a girl's opinion on +such matters. Somehow he did not wish to place Ellen Brewster on the +same level of argument on which another man might have stood. He felt +a jealousy of doing so. She seemed more within his reach, and +infinitely more for his pleasure, where she was. He looked admiringly +down at her fair face fixed on his with a serious, intent expression. +He was quite ready to admit that he might fall in love with her. He +was quite ready to ask now why he should not. She was a beautiful +girl, an uncommon girl. She was going to be thoroughly educated. It +would probably be quite possible to divorce her entirely from her +surroundings. He shuddered when he thought of her mother and aunt, +but, after all, a man, if he were firm, need not marry the mother or +aunt. And all this was in spite of a resolution which he had formed +on due consideration after his last call upon Ellen. He had said to +himself that it would not in any case be wise, that he had better not +see more of her than he could help. Instead of going to see her, he +had gone riding with Maud Hemingway, who lived near his uncle's, in +an old Colonial house which had belonged to her great-grandfather. +The girl was a good comrade, so good a comrade that she shunted, as +it were, love with flings of ready speech and friendly greeting, and +tennis-rackets and riding-whips and foils. Robert had been teaching +Maud to fence, and she had fenced too well. Still, Robert had said to +himself that he might some day fall in love with her and marry her. +He charged his memory with the fact that this was a much more +rational course than visiting a girl like Ellen Brewster, so he +stayed away in spite of involuntary turnings of his thoughts in that +direction. However, now when the opportunity had seemed to be fairly +forced upon him, what was he to do? He felt that he was stirred as he +had never been before. The girl's very soul seemed to meet his when +she looked up at him with those serious blue eyes of hers. He knew +that there had never been any like her for him, but he felt as if in +another minute, if they did not drop topics which he might as well +have discussed with another man, this butterfly of femininity which +so delighted him would be beyond his hand. He wanted to keep her to +her rose.</p> + +<p>“But the knowledge must not imbitter your life,” he +said. “It is not for a little, delicate girl to worry herself +over the problems which are too much for men.”</p> + +<p>In spite of himself a tenderness had come into his voice. Ellen +looked down and away from him. She trembled.</p> + +<p>“It seems to me that the problems of life, like those in the +algebra we studied at school, are for everybody who can read them, +whether men or women,” said she, but her voice was +unsteady.</p> + +<p>“Some of them are for men to read and struggle with for the +sake of the women,” said Robert. His voice had a tender +inflection. They were passing a garden full of old-fashioned flowers, +bordered with box. The scent of the box seemed fairly to clamor over +the garden fence, drowning out the smaller fragrances of the flowers, +like the clamor of a mob. Even the sweetness of the mignonette was +faintly perceived.</p> + +<p>“How strong the box is,” said Ellen, imperceptibly +shrinking a little from Robert.</p> + +<p>When they reached the Brewster house Robert said, as kindly as +Granville Joy might have done, “Cannot we get better +acquainted, Miss Brewster? May I call upon you sometimes?”</p> + +<p>“I shall be happy to see you,” Ellen said, repeating +the formula of welcome like a child, but she knew when she repeated +it that it was very true. After she had parted from young Lloyd, she +went into the sitting-room where were her mother and father, her +mother sewing on a wrapper, her father reading the paper. Both of +them looked up as the girl entered, and both stared at her in a +bewildered way without rightly knowing why. Ellen's cheeks were a +wonderful color, her eyes fairly blazed with blue light, her mouth +was smiling in that ineffable smile of a simple overflow of +happiness.</p> + +<p>“Did you ride home on the car?” asked Fanny. “I +didn't hear it stop.”</p> + +<p>“No, mother.”</p> + +<p>“Did you come home alone?” asked Andrew, abruptly.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Ellen, blinking before the glare of the +lamp. Fanny looked at Andrew. “Who did come home with +you?” she asked, in a foolish, fond voice.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Robert Lloyd. He was sitting on the piazza when I got +there. I told Miss Lennox I had just as soon come on the cars alone, +but she wouldn't let me, and then he said it would be pleasant to +walk, and—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you needn't make so many excuses,” said Fanny, +laughing.</p> + +<p>Ellen colored until her face was a blaze of roses, she blinked +harder, and turned her head away impatiently.</p> + +<p>“I am not making excuses,” said she, as if her modesty +were offended. “I wish you wouldn't talk so, mother. I couldn't +help it.”</p> + +<p>“Of course you couldn't,” her mother called out +jocularly, as Ellen went into the other room to get her lamp to go to +bed.</p> + +<p>Fanny was radiant with delight. After Ellen had gone up-stairs, +she kept looking at Andrew, and longing to confide in him her +anticipation with regard to Ellen and young Lloyd, but she refrained, +being doubtful as to how he would take it. Andrew looked very sober. +The girl's beautiful, metamorphosed face was ever before his eyes, +and it was with him as if he were looking after the flight of a +beloved bird into a farther blue which was sacred, even from the +following of his love.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XXVII</h3> + +<p>Ellen's first impulse, when she really began to love Robert Lloyd, +was not yielding, but flight; her first sensation, not happiness, but +shame. When he left her that night she realized, to her unspeakable +dismay and anger, that he had not left her, that he would never in +her whole life, or at least it seemed so, leave her again. Everywhere +she looked she saw his face projected by her memory before her with +all the reality of life. His face came between her and her mother's +and father's, it came between her and her thoughts of other faces. +When she was alone in her chamber, there was the face. She blew out +the lamp in a panic of resentment and undressed in the dark, but that +made no difference. When she lay in bed, although she closed her eyes +resolutely, she could still see it.</p> + +<p>“I won't have it; I won't have it,” she said, quite +aloud in her shame and rebellion. “I won't have it. What does +this mean?”</p> + +<p>In spite of herself the sound of his voice was in her ears, and +she resented that; she fought against the feeling of utter rapture +which came stealing over her because of it. She felt as if she wanted +to spring out of bed and run, run far away into the freedom of the +night, if only by so doing she could outspeed herself. Ellen began to +realize the tyranny of her own nature, and her whole soul arose in +revolt.</p> + +<p>But the girl could no more escape than a nymph of old the pursuit +of the god, and there was no friendly deity to transform her into a +flower to elude him. When she slept at last she was overtaken in the +innocent passion of dreams, and when she awoke it was, to her angry +sensitiveness, not alone.</p> + +<p>When she went down-stairs all her rosy radiance of the night +before was eclipsed. She looked pale and nervous. She recoiled +whenever her mother began to speak. It seemed to her that if she said +anything, and especially anything congratulatory about Robert Lloyd, +she would fly at her like a wild thing. Fanny kept looking at her +with loving facetiousness, and Ellen winced indescribably; still, she +did not say anything until after breakfast, when Andrew had gone to +work. Andrew was unusually sober and preoccupied that morning. When +he went out he passed close to Ellen, as she sat at the table, and +tilted up her face and kissed her. “Father's blessin',” +he whispered, hoarsely, in her ear. Ellen nestled against him. This +natural affection, before which she need not fly nor be ashamed, +which she had always known, seemed to come before her like a shield +against all untried passion. She felt sheltered and comforted. But +Andrew passed Eva Tenny coming to the house on his way out of the +yard, and when she entered Fanny began at once:</p> + +<p>“Who do you s'pose came home with Ellen last night?” +said she. She looked at Eva, then at Ellen, with a glance which +seemed to uncover a raw surface of delicacy. Ellen flushed +angrily.</p> + +<p>“Mother, I do wish—” she began; but Fanny cut +her short.</p> + +<p>“She's pretendin' she don't like it,” she said, almost +hilariously, her face glowing with triumph, “but she does. You +ought to have seen her when she came in last night.”</p> + +<p>“I guess I know who it was,” said Eva, but she echoed +her sister's manner half-heartedly. She was looking very badly that +morning, her face was stained, and her eye hard with a look as if +tears had frozen in them. She had come in a soiled waist, too, +without any collar.</p> + +<p>“For Heaven's sake, Eva Tenny, what ails you?” Fanny +cried.</p> + +<p>Eva flung herself for answer on the floor, and fairly writhed. +Words were not enough expression for her violent temperament. She had +to resort to physical manifestations or lose her reason. As she +writhed, she groaned as one might do who was dying in extremity of +pain.</p> + +<p>Ellen, when she heard her aunt's groans, stopped, and stood in the +entry viewing it all. She thought at first that her aunt was ill, and +was just about to call out to know if she should go for the doctor, +all her grievances being forgotten in this evidently worse stress, +when her mother fairly screamed again, stooping over her sister, and +trying to raise her.</p> + +<p>“Eva Tenny, you tell me this minute what the matter +is.”</p> + +<p>Then Eva raised herself on one elbow, and disclosed a face +distorted with wrath and woe, like a mask of tragedy.</p> + +<p>“He's gone! he's gone!” she shrieked out, in an awful, +shrill voice, which was like the note of an angry bird. “He's +gone!”</p> + +<p>“For God's sake, not—Jim?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he's gone! he's gone! Oh, my God! my God! he's +gone!”</p> + +<p>All at once the little Amabel appeared, slipping past Ellen +silently. She stood watching her mother. She was vibrating from head +to foot as if strung on wires. She was not crying, but she kept +catching her breath audibly; her little hands were twitching in the +folds of her frock; she winked rapidly, her lids obscuring and +revealing her eyes until they seemed a series of blue sparks. She was +no paler than usual—that was scarcely possible—but her +skin looked transparent, pulses were evident all over her face and +her little neck.</p> + +<p>“You don't mean he's gone with—?” gasped +Fanny.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Eva raised herself with a convulsive jerk from the floor +to her feet. She stood quite still. “Yes, he has gone,” +she said, and all the passion was gone from her voice, which was much +more terrible in its calm.</p> + +<p>“You don't mean with—?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; he has gone with Aggie.” Eva spoke in a voice +like a deaf-mute's, quite free from inflections. There was something +dreadful about her rigid attitude. Little Amabel looked at her +mother's eyes, then cowered down and began to cry aloud. Ellen came +in and took her in her arms, whispering to her to soothe her. She +tried to coax her away, but the child resisted violently, though she +was usually so docile with Ellen.</p> + +<p>Eva did not seem to notice Amabel's crying. She stood in that +horrible inflexibility, with eyes like black stones fixed on +something unseeable.</p> + +<p>Fanny clutched her violently by the arm and shook her.</p> + +<p>“Eva Tenny,” said she, “you behave yourself. +What if he has run away? You ain't the first woman whose husband has +run away. I'd have more pride. I wouldn't please him nor her enough. +If he's as bad as that, you're better off rid of him.”</p> + +<p>Eva turned on her sister, and her calm broke up like ice under her +fire of passion.</p> + +<p>“Don't you say one word against him, not one word!” +she shrieked, throwing off Fanny's hand. “I won't hear one word +against my husband.”</p> + +<p>Then little Amabel joined in. “Don't you say one word +against my papa!” she cried, in her shrill, childish treble. +Then she sobbed convulsively, and pushed Ellen away. “Go +away!” she said, viciously, to her. She was half mad with +terror and bewilderment.</p> + +<p>“Don't you say one word against Jim,” said Eva again. +“If ever I hear anybody say one word against him +I'll—”</p> + +<p>“You don't mean you're goin' to stan' up for him, Eva +Tenny?”</p> + +<p>“As long as I draw the breath of life, and after, if I know +anything,” declared Eva. Then she straightened herself to her +full height, threw back her shoulders, and burst into a furious +denunciation like some prophetess of wrath. The veins on her forehead +grew turgid, her lips seemed to swell, her hair seemed to move as she +talked. The others shrank back and looked at her; even little Amabel +hushed her sobs and stared, fascinated. “Curses on the grinding +tyranny that's brought it all about, and not on the poor, weak man +that fell under it!” she cried. “Jim ain't to blame. He's +had bigger burdens put on his shoulders than the Lord gave him +strength to bear. He had to drop 'em. Jim has tried faithful ever +since we were married. He worked hard, and it wa'n't never his fault +that he lost his place, but he kept losin' it. They kept shuttin' +down, or dischargin' him for no reason at all, without a minute's +warnin'. An' it wa'n't because he drank. Jim never drank when he had +a job. He was just taken up and put down by them over him as if he +was a piece on a checker-board. He lost his good opinion of himself +when he saw others didn't set any more by him than to shove him off +or on the board as it suited their play. He began to think maybe he +wa'n't a man, and then he began to act as if he wasn't a man. And he +was ashamed of his life because he couldn't support me and Amabel, +ashamed of his life because he had to live on my little earnin's. He +was ashamed to look me in the face, and ashamed to look his own child +in the face. It was only night before last he was talkin' to me, and +I didn't know what he meant then, but I know now. I thought then he +meant something else, but now I know what he meant. He sat a long +time leanin' his head on his hands, whilst I was sewin' on wrappers, +after Amabel had gone to bed, and finally he looks up and says, +‘Eva, you was right and I was wrong.’</p> + +<p>“‘What do you mean, Jim?’ says I.</p> + +<p>“‘I mean you was right when you thought we'd better +not get married, and I was wrong,’ says he; and he spoke +terrible bitter and sad. I never heard him speak like it. He sounded +like another man. I jest flung down my sewin' and went over to him, +and leaned his poor head against my shoulder. ‘Jim,’ says +I, ‘I 'ain't never regretted it.’ And God knows I spoke +the truth, and I speak the truth when I say it now. I 'ain't never +regretted it, and I don't regret it now.” Eva said the last +with a look as if she were hurling defiance, then she went on in the +same high, monotonous key above the ordinary key of life. “When +I says that, he jest gives a great sigh and sort of pushes me away +and gets up. ‘Well, I have,’ says he; ‘I have, and +sometimes I think the best thing I can do is to take myself out of +the way, instead of sittin' here day after day and seein' you wearin' +your fingers to the bone to support me, and seein' my child, an' +bein' ashamed to look her in the face. Sometimes I think you an' +Amabel would be a damned sight better off without me than with me, +and I'm done for anyway, and it don't make much difference what I do +next.’</p> + +<p>“‘Jim Tenny, you jest quit talkin' in such a way as +this,’ says I, for I thought he meant to make away with +himself, but that wa'n't what he meant. Aggie Bemis had been windin' +her net round him, and he wa'n't nothin' but a man, and all +discouraged, and he gave in. Any man would in his place. He ain't to +blame. It's the tyrants that's over us all that's to blame.” +Eva's voice shrilled higher. “Curse them!” she shrieked. +“Curse them all!—every rich man in this gold-ridden +country!”</p> + +<p>“Eva Tenny, you're beside yourself,” said Fanny, who +was herself white to her lips, yet she viewed her sister indignantly, +as one violent nature will view another when it is overborne and +carried away by a kindred passion.</p> + +<p>“Wonder if you'd be real calm in my place?” said Eva; +and as she spoke the dreadful impassibility of desperation returned +upon her. It was as if she suffered some chemical change before their +eyes. She became silent and seemed as if she would never speak +again.</p> + +<p>“You hadn't ought to talk so,” said Fanny, weakly, she +was so terrified. “You ought to think of poor little +Amabel,” she added.</p> + +<p>With that, Eva's dreadful, expressionless eyes turned towards +Amabel, and she held out her hand to her, but the child fairly +screamed with terror and clung to Ellen. “Oh, Aunt Eva, don't +look at her so, you frighten her,” Ellen said, trembling, and +leaning her cheek against Amabel's little, cold, pale one. +“Don't cry, darling,” she whispered. “It is just +because poor mother feels so badly.”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid of my mamma, and I want papa!” screamed +Amabel, quivering, and stiffening her slender back.</p> + +<p>Eva continued to keep her eyes fixed upon her, and to hold out +that commanding hand.</p> + +<p>Fanny went close to her, seized her by both shoulders, and shook +her violently. “Eva Tenny, you behave yourself!” said +she. “There ain't no need of your acting this way if your man +has run away with another woman, and as for that child goin' with +you, she sha'n't go one step with any woman that looks and acts as +you do. Actin' this way over a good-for-nothin' fellow like Jim +Tenny!”</p> + +<p>Again that scourge of the spirit aroused Eva to her normal state. +She became a living, breathing, wrathful, loving woman once more. +“Don't you dare say a word against Jim!” she cried out; +“not one word, Fanny Brewster; I won't hear it. Don't you dare +say a word!”</p> + +<p>“Don't you say a word against my papa!” shrilled +Amabel. Then she left Ellen and ran to her mother, and clung to her. +And Eva caught her up, and hugged the little, fragile thing against +her breast, and pounced upon her with kisses, with a fury as of rage +instead of love.</p> + +<p>“She always looked like Jim,” she sobbed out; +“she always did. Aggie Bemis shall never get her. I've got her +in spite of all the awful wrong of life; it's the good that had to +come out of it whether or no, and God couldn't help Himself. I've got +this much. She always looked like Jim.”</p> + +<p>Eva set Amabel down and began leading her out of the room.</p> + +<p>“You ain't goin'?” said Fanny, who had herself begun +to weep. “Eva, you ain't goin'? Oh, you poor girl!”</p> + +<p>“Don't!—you said that like Jim,” Eva cried, with +a great groan of pain.</p> + +<p>“Eva, you ain't goin'? Wait a little while, and let me do +somethin' for you.”</p> + +<p>“You can't do anything. Come, Amabel.”</p> + +<p>Eva and Amabel went away, the child rolling eyes of terror and +interrogation at them, Eva impervious to all her sister's +pleading.</p> + +<p>When Andrew heard what had happened, and Fanny repeated what Eva +had said, his blame for Jim Tenny was unqualified. “I've had a +hard time enough, knocked about from pillar to post, and I know what +she means when she talks about a checker-board. God knows I feel +myself sometimes as if I wasn't anything but a checker-piece instead +of a man,” he said, “but it's all nonsense blamin' the +shoe-manufacturers for his runnin' away with that woman. A man has +got to use what little freedom he's got right. It ain't any excuse +for Jim Tenny that he's been out of work and got discouraged. He's a +good-for-nothing cur, an' I'd like to tell him so.”</p> + +<p>“It won't do for you to talk to Eva that way,” said +Fanny. They were all at the supper-table. Ellen was listening +silently.</p> + +<p>“She does right to stand up for her husband, I +suppose,” said Andrew, “but anybody's got to use a little +sense. It don't make it any better for Jim, tryin' to shove blame off +his shoulders that belongs there. The manufacturers didn't make him +run off with another woman and leave his child. That was a move he +made himself.”</p> + +<p>“But he wouldn't have made that move if the manufacturers +hadn't made theirs,” Ellen said, unexpectedly.</p> + +<p>“That's so,” said Fanny.</p> + +<p>Andrew looked uneasily at Ellen, in whose cheeks two red spots +were burning, and whose eyes upon his face seemed narrowed to two +points of brightness. “There's nothing for you to worry about, +child,” he said.</p> + +<p>All this was before the dressmaker, who listened with no +particular interest. Affairs which did not directly concern her did +not awaken her to much sharpness of regard. She had been forced by +circumstances into a very narrow groove of life, a little foot-path +as it were, fenced in from destruction by three dollars a day. She +could not, view it as keenly as she might, see that Jim Tenny's +elopement had anything whatever to do with her three dollars per day. +She, therefore, ate her supper. At first Andrew had looked warningly +at Fanny when she began to discuss the subject before the dressmaker, +but Fanny had replied, “Oh, land, Andrew, she knows all about +it now. It's all over town.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I heard it this morning before I came,” said the +dressmaker. “I think a puff on the sleeves of the silk waist +will be very pretty, don't you, Mrs. Brewster?”</p> + +<p>Ellen looked at the dressmaker with wonder; it seemed to her that +the woman was going on a little especial side track of her own +outside the interests of her kind. She looked at her pretty new +things and tried them on, and felt guilty that she had them. What +business had she having new clothes and going to Vassar College in +the face of that misery? What was an education? What was anything +compared with the sympathy which love demanded of love in the midst +of sorrow? Should she not turn her back upon any purely personal +advantage as she would upon a moral plague?</p> + +<p>When Ellen's father said that to her at the supper-table she +looked at him with unchildlike eyes. “I think it is something +for me to worry about, father,” she said. “How can I help +worrying if I love Aunt Eva and Amabel?”</p> + +<p>“It's a dreadful thing for Eva,” said Fanny. “I +don't see what she is going to do. Andrew, pass the biscuits to Miss +Higgins.”</p> + +<p>“It seems to me that the one that is the farthest behind +anything that happens on this earth is the one to blame,” said +Ellen, reverting to her line of argument.</p> + +<p>“I don't know but you've got to go back to God, then,” +said Andrew, soberly, passing the biscuits. Miss Higgins took +one.</p> + +<p>“No, you haven't,” said Ellen—“you +haven't, because men are free. You've got to stop before you get to +God. When a man goes wrong, you have got to look and see if he is to +blame, if he started himself, or other men have been pushing him into +it. It seems to me that other men have been pushing Uncle Jim into +it. I don't think factory-owners have any right to discharge a man +without a good reason, any more than he has a right to run the +shop.”</p> + +<p>“I don't think so, either,” said Fanny. “I think +Ellen is right.”</p> + +<p>“I don't know. It is all a puzzle,” said Andrew. +“Something's wrong somewhere. I don't know whether it's because +we are pushed or because we pull. There's no use in your worrying +about it, Ellen. You've got to study your books.” Andrew said +this with a look of pride at Ellen and sidelong triumph at the +dressmaker to see if she rightly understood the magnitude of it all, +of the whole situation of making dresses for this wonderful young +creature who was going to Vassar College.</p> + +<p>“I don't know but this is more important than books,” +said Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Oh, maybe you'll find out something in your books that will +settle the whole matter,” said Andrew. Ellen was not eating +much supper, and that troubled him. Andrew always knew just how much +Ellen ate.</p> + +<p>“I don't know what Aunt Eva and poor little Amabel will +do,” said she. Ellen's lip quivered.</p> + +<p>“Pass the cake to Miss Higgins,” said Fanny, sharply, +to Andrew. She gave him a significant wink as she did so, not to talk +more about it.</p> + +<p>“Try some of that chocolate cake, Miss Higgins.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said Miss Higgins, unexcitedly.</p> + +<p>Andrew had his own cause of worry, and finally reverted to it, +eating his food with no more conception of the savor than if it were +in another man's mouth. He was sorry enough for his wife's sister, +and recognized it as an added weight to his own burden, but just at +present all he could think of was the question if Miss Higgins would +ask for her pay again that night. He had not a dollar in his pocket. +He had been dunned that afternoon by the man who had lent the money +to buy Ellen's watch, there were two new dunning letters in his +pocket, and now if that keen little dressmaker, who fairly looked to +him like a venomous insect, as she sat eating rather voraciously of +the chocolate cake, should ask him again for the three dollars due +her that night! He would not have cared so much, if it were not for +the fact that she would ask him before his wife and Ellen, and the +question about the money in the savings-bank, which was a species of +nightmare to him, would be sure to come to the front.</p> + +<p>Suddenly it struck Andrew that he might run away, that he might +slip out after supper, and either go into his mother's house or down +the street. He finally decided on the former, since he reasoned, with +a pitiful cunning, that if he went down the street he would have to +take off his slippers and put on his shoes, and that would at once +betray him and lead to the possible arrest of his flight.</p> + +<p>So after supper, while Miss Higgins was trying a waist on Ellen, +and Fanny was clearing the table, Andrew, bareheaded and in his +slippers, prepared to carry his plan into execution. He got out +without being seen, and hurried around the rear of the house, out of +view from the sitting-room windows, resolving on the way that in +order to avert the danger of a possible following him to the +sanctuary of his mother's house, he had perhaps better slip down into +the orchard behind it and see if the porter apples were ripe. But +when, stooping as if beneath some invisible shield, and moving with a +low glide of secrecy, he had gained the yard between the two houses, +the yard where the three cherry-trees stood, he heard Fanny's high, +insistent voice calling him, and knew that it was all over. Fanny had +her head thrust out of her bedroom window. “Andrew! +Andrew!” she called.</p> + +<p>Andrew stopped. “What is it?” he asked, in a gruff +voice. He felt at that moment savage with her and with fate. He felt +like some badgered animal beneath the claws and teeth of petty +enemies which were yet sufficient to do him to death. He felt that +retreat and defence were alike impossible and inglorious. He was +aware of a monstrous impatience with it all, which was fairly +blasphemy. “What is it?” he said, and Fanny realized that +something was wrong.</p> + +<p>“Come here, Andrew Brewster,” she said, from the +bedroom window, and Andrew pressed close to the window through a +growth of sweetbrier which rasped his hands and sent up a sweet +fragrance in his face. Andrew tore away the clinging vines +angrily.</p> + +<p>“Well, what is it?” he said again.</p> + +<p>“Don't spoil that bush, Ellen sets a lot by it,” said +Fanny. “What makes you act so, Andrew Brewster?” Then +she lowered her voice. “She wants to know if she can have her +pay to-night,” she whispered.</p> + +<p>“I 'ain't got a cent,” replied Andrew, in a dogged, +breathless voice.</p> + +<p>“You 'ain't been to the bank to-day, then?”</p> + +<p>“No, I 'ain't.”</p> + +<p>Fanny still suspected nothing. She was, in fact, angry with the +dressmaker for insisting upon her pay in such a fashion. “I +never heard of such a thing as her wantin' to be paid every +night,” she whispered, angrily, “and I'd tell her so, if +I wasn't afraid she'd think we couldn't pay her. I'd never have had +her; I'd had Miss Patch, if I'd know she'd do such a mean thing, but, +as it is, I don't know what to do. I 'ain't got but a dollar and +seventy-three cents by me. You 'ain't got enough to make it +up?”</p> + +<p>“No, I 'ain't.”</p> + +<p>“Well, all is, I've got to tell her that it ain't convenient +for me to pay her to-night, and she shall have it all together +to-morrow night, and to-morrow you'll have to go to the bank and take +out the money, Andrew. Don't forget it.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Andrew.</p> + +<p>Fanny retreated, and he heard her high voice explaining to Miss +Higgins. He tore his way through the clinging sweetbrier bushes and +ran with an unsteady, desperate gait down to the orchard behind his +mother's home, and flung himself at full length in the dewy grass +under the trees with all the abandon, under stress of fate, of a +child.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XXVIII</h3> + +<p>Andrew Brewster, lying in the dewy grass under the apple-trees, +giving way for almost the first time since his childhood to impulses +which had hitherto, from his New England heredity, stiffened instead +of relaxed his muscles of expression, felt as if he were being stung +to death by ants. He was naturally a man of broad views, who felt the +indignity of coping with such petty odds. “For God's sake, if I +had to be done to death, why couldn't it have been for +something?” he groaned, speaking with his lips close to the +earth as if it were a listening ear. “Why need it all have been +over so little? It's just the little fight for enough to eat and wear +that's getting the better of me that was a man, and able to do a +man's work in the world. Now it has come to this! Here I am runnin' +away from a woman because she wants me to pay her three dollars, and +I am afraid of another woman because—I've been and fooled away +a few hundred dollars I had in the savings-bank. I'm +afraid—yes, it has come to this. I am afraid, afraid, and I'd +run away out of life if I knew where it would fetch me to. I'm afraid +of things that ain't worth being afraid of, and it's all over things +that's beneath me.” There came over Andrew, with his mouth to +the moist earth, feeling the breath and the fragrance of it in his +nostrils, a realization of the great motherhood of nature, and a +contempt for himself which was scorching and scathing before it. He +felt that he came from that mighty breast which should produce only +sons of might, and was spending his whole life in an ignominy of +fruitless climbing up mole-hills. “Why couldn't I have been +more?” he asked himself. “Oh, my God, is it my +fault?” He said to himself that if he had not yielded to the +universal law and longing of his kind for a home and a family, it +might have been better. He asked himself that question which will +never be answered with a surety of correctness, whether the +advancement of the individual to his furthest compass is more to the +glory of life than the blind following out of the laws of existence +and the bringing others into the everlasting problem of advance. Then +he thought of Ellen, and a great warmth of conviction came over the +loving heart of the man; all his self-contempt vanished. He had her, +this child who was above pearls and rubies, he had her, and in her +the furthest reach of himself and progression of himself to greater +distances than he could ever have accomplished in any other way, and +it was a double progress, since it was not only for him, but also for +the woman he had married. A great wave of love for Fanny came over +him. He seemed to see that, after all, it was a shining road by which +he had come, and he saw himself upon it like a figure of light. He +saw that he lived and could never die. Then, as with a remorseless +hurl of a high spirit upon needle-pricks of petty cares, he thought +again of the dressmaker, of the money for Ellen's watch, of the +butcher's bill, and the grocer's bills, and the money which he had +taken from the bank, and again he cowered beneath and loathed his +ignoble burden. He dug his hot head into the grass. “Oh, my +God! oh, my God!” he groaned. He fairly sobbed. Then he felt a +soft wind of feminine skirts caused by the sudden stoop of some one +beside him, and Ellen's voice, shrill with alarm, rang in his ears. +“Father, what is the matter? Father!”</p> + +<p>Such was the man's love for the girl that his first thought was +for her alarm, and he pushed all his own troubles into the background +with a lightning-like motion. He raised himself hastily, and smiled +at her with his pitiful, stiff face. “It's nothing at all, +Ellen, don't you worry,” he said.</p> + +<p>But that was not enough to satisfy her. She caught hold of his arm +and clung to it. “Father,” she said, in a tone which had +in it, to his wonder, a firm womanliness—his own daughter +seemed to speak to him as if she were his mother—“you are +not telling me the truth. Something is the matter, or you wouldn't do +like this.”</p> + +<p>“No, there's nothin', nothin' at all, dear child,” +said Andrew. He tried to loosen her little, clinging hand from his +arm. “Come, let's go back to the house,” he said. +“Don't you mind anything about it. Sometimes father gets +discouraged over nothin'.”</p> + +<p>“It isn't over nothing,” said Ellen. “What is it +about, father?”</p> + +<p>Andrew tried to laugh. “Well, if it isn't over nothin', it's +over nothin' in particular,” said he; “it's over jest +what's happened right along. Sometimes father feels as if he hadn't +made as much as he'd ought to out of his life, and he's gettin' +older, and he's feelin' kind of discouraged, that's all.”</p> + +<p>“Over money matters?” said Ellen, looking at him +steadily.</p> + +<p>“Over nothin',” said her father. “See here, +child, father's ashamed that he gave way so, and you found him. Now +don't you worry one mite about it—it's nothing at all. Come, +let's go back to the house,” he said.</p> + +<p>Ellen said no more, but she walked up from the field holding +tightly to her father's poor, worn hand, and her heart was in a +tumult. To behold any convulsion of nature is no light experience, +and when it is a storm of the spirit in one beloved the beholder is +swept along with it in greater or less measure. Ellen trembled as she +walked. Her father kept looking at her anxiously and remorsefully. +Once he reached around his other hand and chucked her playfully under +the chin. “Scared most to death, was she?” he asked, with +a shamefaced blush.</p> + +<p>“I know something is the matter, and I think it would be +better for you to tell me, father,” replied Ellen, soberly.</p> + +<p>“There's nothing to tell, child,” said Andrew. +“Don't you worry your little head about it.” Between his +anxiety lest the girl should be troubled, and his intense humiliation +that she should have discovered him in such an abandon of grief which +was almost like a disclosure of the nakedness of his spirit, he was +completely unnerved. Ellen felt him tremble, and heard his voice +quiver when he spoke. She felt towards her father something she had +never felt before—an impulse of protection. She felt the older +and stronger of the two. Her grasp on his hand tightened, she seemed +in a measure to be leading him along.</p> + +<p>When they reached the yard between the houses Andrew cast an +apprehensive glance at the windows. “Has she gone?” he +asked.</p> + +<p>“Who, the dressmaker?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“She hadn't when I came out. I saw you come past the house, +and I thought you walked as if you didn't feel well, so I thought I +would run out and see.”</p> + +<p>“I was all right,” replied Andrew. “Have you got +to try on anything more to-night?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, let's run into grandma's a minute.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Zelotes was sitting at her front window in the dusk, looking +out on the street, as was her favorite custom. The old woman seldom +lit a lamp in the summer evening, but sat there staring out at the +lighted street and the people passing and repassing, with her mind as +absolutely passive as regarded herself as if she were travelling and +observing only that which passed without. At those times she became +in a fashion sensible of the motion of the world, and lost her sense +of individuality in the midst of it. When her son and granddaughter +entered she looked away from the window with the expression of one +returning from afar, and seemed dazed for a moment.</p> + +<p>“Hullo, mother!” said Andrew.</p> + +<p>The room was dusky, and they moved across between the chairs and +tables like two shadows.</p> + +<p>“Oh, is it you, Andrew?” said his mother. “Who +is that with you—Ellen?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Ellen. “How do you do, +grandma?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Zelotes became suddenly fully awake to the situation; she +collected her scattered faculties; her keen old eyes gleamed in a +shaft of electric-light from the street without, which fell full upon +her face.</p> + +<p>“Set down,” said she. “Has the dressmaker +gone?”</p> + +<p>“No, she hadn't when I came out,” replied Ellen, +“but she's most through for to-night.”</p> + +<p>“How do your things look?”</p> + +<p>“Real pretty, I guess.”</p> + +<p>“Sometimes I think you'd better have had Miss Patch. I hope +she 'ain't got your sleeves too tight at the elbows.”</p> + +<p>“They seem to fit very nicely, grandma.”</p> + +<p>“Sleeves are very particular things; a sleeve wrong can +spoil a whole dress.”</p> + +<p>Suddenly the old woman turned on Ellen with a look of extremest +facetiousness and intelligence, and the girl winced, for she knew +what was coming. “I see you goin' past with a young man last +night, didn't I?” said she.</p> + +<p>Ellen flushed. “Yes,” she said, almost indignantly, +for she had a feeling as if the veil of some inner sacredness of her +nature were continually being torn aside. “I went over to Miss +Lennox, to carry some sweet-peas, and Mr. Robert Lloyd was there, and +he came home with me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” replied her grandmother.</p> + +<p>Ellen's patience left her at the sound of that “Oh,” +which seemed to rasp her very soul. “You have none of you any +right to talk and act as you do,” said she. “You make me +ashamed of you, you and mother; father has more sense. Just because a +young man makes me a call to return something, and then walks home +with me, because he happened to be at the house where I call in the +evening! I think it's a shame. You make me feel as if I couldn't look +him in the face.”</p> + +<p>“Never mind, grandma didn't mean any harm,” Andrew +said, soothingly.</p> + +<p>“You needn't try to excuse me, Andrew Brewster,” cried +his mother, angrily. “I guess it's a pretty to-do, if I can't +say a word in joke to my own granddaughter. If it had been a poor, +good-for-nothing young feller workin' in a shoe-factory, I s'pose +she'd been tickled to death to be joked about him, but now when it +begins to look as if somebody that was worth while had come +along—”</p> + +<p>“Grandma, if you say another word about it, I will never +speak to Robert Lloyd again as long as I live,” declared +Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Never mind, child,” whispered Andrew.</p> + +<p>“I do mind, and I mean what I say,” Ellen cried. +“I won't have it. Robert Lloyd is nothing to me, and I am +nothing to him. He is no better than Granville Joy. There is nothing +between us, and you make me too ashamed to think of him.”</p> + +<p>Then the old woman cried out, in a tone of triumph, “Well, +there he is, turnin' in at your gate now.”</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XXIX</h3> + +<p>Ellen rose without a word, and fled out of the room and out of the +house. It seemed to her, after what had happened, after what her +mother and grandmother had said and insinuated, after what she +herself had thought and felt, that she must. She longed to see Robert +Lloyd, to hear him speak, as she had never longed for anything in the +world, and yet she ran away as if she were driven to obey some law +which was coeval with the first woman and beyond all volition of her +individual self.</p> + +<p>When she reached the head of the little cross street on which the +Atkinses lived, she turned into it with relief. The Atkins house was +a tiny cottage, with a little kitchen ell, and a sagging piazza +across the front. On this piazza were shadowy figures, and the dull, +red gleam of pipes, and one fiery tip of a cigar. Joe Atkins, and +Sargent, and two other men were sitting out there in the cool of the +evening. Ellen hurried around the curve of the foot-path to the +kitchen door. Abby was in there, working with the swift precision of +a machine. She washed and wiped dishes as if in a sort of fury, her +thin elbows jerking, her mouth compressed.</p> + +<p>When Ellen entered, Abby stared, then her whole face lighted up, +as if from some internal lamp. “Why, Ellen, is that you?” +she said, in a surprisingly sweet voice. Sometimes Abby's sharp +American voice rang with the sweetness of a soft bell.</p> + +<p>“I thought I'd run over a minute,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>The other girl looked sharply at her. “Why, what's the +matter?” she said.</p> + +<p>“Nothing is the matter. Why?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I thought you looked sort of queer. Maybe it's the +light. Sit down; I'll have the dishes done in a minute, then we'll go +into the sitting-room.”</p> + +<p>“I'd rather stay out here with you,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>Abby looked at her again. “There is something the matter, +Ellen Brewster,” said she; “you can't cheat me. You would +never have run over here this way in the world. What has +happened?”</p> + +<p>“Let's go up to your room after the dishes are done, and +then I'll tell you,” whispered Ellen. The men's voices on the +piazza could be heard quite distinctly, and it seemed possible that +their own conversation might be overheard in return.</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Abby. “Of course I have heard +about your aunt,” she added, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Ellen, and she felt shamed and remorseful +that her own affairs had been uppermost in her mind, and that Abby +had supposed that she might be disturbed over this great trouble of +her poor aunt's.</p> + +<p>“I think it is dreadful,” said Abby. “I wish I +could get hold of that woman.” By “that woman” she +meant the woman with whom poor Jim Tenny had eloped.</p> + +<p>“I do,” said Ellen, bitterly.</p> + +<p>“But it's something besides that made you run over +here,” said Abby.</p> + +<p>“I'll tell you when we go up to your room,” replied +Ellen.</p> + +<p>When the dishes were finished, and the two girls in Abby's little +chamber, seated side by side on the bed, Ellen still hesitated.</p> + +<p>“Now, Ellen Brewster, what is the matter? You said you would +tell, and you've got to,” said Abby.</p> + +<p>Ellen looked away from her, blushing. The electric-light from the +street shone full in the room, which was wavering with grotesque +shadows.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said she, “I ran away.”</p> + +<p>“You ran away! What for?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, because.”</p> + +<p>“Because what?”</p> + +<p>“Because I saw somebody coming.”</p> + +<p>“Saw who coming?”</p> + +<p>Ellen was silent.</p> + +<p>“Not Granville Joy?”</p> + +<p>Ellen shook her head.</p> + +<p>“Not—?”</p> + +<p>Ellen looked straight ahead.</p> + +<p>“Not young Mr. Lloyd?”</p> + +<p>Ellen was silent with the silence of assent.</p> + +<p>“Did he go into your house?”</p> + +<p>Ellen nodded.</p> + +<p>“Where were you?”</p> + +<p>“In grandma's.”</p> + +<p>“And you ran away, over here?”</p> + +<p>Ellen nodded.</p> + +<p>“Why, Ellen Brewster, didn't you want to see him?”</p> + +<p>Ellen turned from Abby with an impatient gesture, buried her face +in the bed, and began to weep.</p> + +<p>Abby leaned over her caressingly. “Ellen dear,” she +whispered, “what is the matter; what are you crying for? What +made you run away?”</p> + +<p>Ellen sobbed harder.</p> + +<p>Abby looked at Ellen's prostrate figure sadly. +“Ellen,” she began; then she stopped, for her own voice +quivered. Then she went on, quite steadily. “Ellen,” she +said, “you like him.”</p> + +<p>“No, I don't,” declared Ellen. “I won't. I never +will. Nothing shall make me.”</p> + +<p>But Abby continued to look at her sadly and jealously. +“There's a power over us which is too strong for girls,” +said she, “and you've come under it, Ellen, and you can't help +it.” Then she added, with a great, noble burst of utter +unselfishness: “And I'm glad, I'm glad, Ellen. That man can +lift you out of the grind.”</p> + +<p>But Ellen sat up straight and faced her, with burning cheeks, and +eyes shining through tears. “I will never be lifted out of the +grind as long as those I love are in it,” said she.</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose it would make it any better for your folks +to see you in it all your life along with them?” said Abby. +“Suppose you married a fellow like Granville Joy?”</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XXX</h3> + +<p>Ellen looked at the other girl in a kind of rage of maidenly +shame. “Why have I got to get married, anyway?” she +demanded. “Isn't there anything in this world besides getting +married? Why do you all talk so about me? You don't seem so bent on +getting married yourself. If you think so much of marriage, why don't +you get married yourself, and let me alone?”</p> + +<p>“Nobody wants to marry me that I know of,” replied +Abby, quite simply. Then she, too, blazed out. “Get +married!” she cried. “Do you really think I would get +married to the kind of man who would marry me? Do you think I could +if I loved him?” A great wave of red surged over the girl's +thin face, her voice trembled with tenderness. Ellen knew at once, +with a throb of sympathy and shame, that Abby did love some one.</p> + +<p>“Do you think I would marry him if I loved him?” +demanded Abby, stiffening herself into a soldier-like straightness. +“Do you think? I tell you what it is,” she said, “I +was lookin' only to-day at David Mendon at the cutting-bench, cutting +away with his poor little knife. I'd like to know how many handles +he's worn out since he began. There he was, putting the pattern on +the leather, and cuttin' around it, standin' at his window, that's a +hot place in summer and a cold one in winter, and there's where he's +stood for I don't know how many years since before I was born. He's +one of the few that Lloyd's has hung on to when he's got older, and I +thought to myself, good Lord, how that poor man must have loved his +wife, and how he must love his children, to be willin' to turn +himself into a machine like that for them. He never takes a holiday +unless he's forced into it; there he stands and cuts and cuts. If I +were his wife, I would die of shame and pity that I ever led him into +it. Do you think I would ever let a man turn himself into a machine +for me, if I loved him? I guess I wouldn't! And that's why, when I +see a man of another sort that you won't have to break your own heart +over, whether you marry him or not, payin' attention to you, I am +glad. It's a different thing, marriage with a man like Robert Lloyd, +and a man like that would never think of me. I'm right in the ranks, +and you ain't.”</p> + +<p>“I am,” said Ellen, stoutly.</p> + +<p>“No, you ain't; you don't belong there, and when I see a +chance for you to get out where you belong—”</p> + +<p>“I don't intend to make marriage a stepping-stone,” +said Ellen. “Sometimes—” She hesitated.</p> + +<p>“What?” asked the other girl.</p> + +<p>“Sometimes I think I would rather not go to college, after +all.”</p> + +<p>“Ellen Brewster, are you crazy? Of course, you will go to +college unless you marry Robert Lloyd. Perhaps he won't want to +wait.” Then Abby, dauntless as she was, shrank a little before +Ellen's wrathful retort.</p> + +<p>“Abby Atkins, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!” +she cried. “There he's been to see me just twice, the first +time on an errand, and the next with his aunt, and he's walked home +with me once because he couldn't help it; his aunt told him +to!”</p> + +<p>“But here he is again to-night,” said Abby, +apologetically.</p> + +<p>“What of that? I suppose he has come on another +errand.”</p> + +<p>“Then what made you run away?”</p> + +<p>“Because you have all made me ashamed of my life to look at +him,” said Ellen, hotly.</p> + +<p>Then down went her head on the bed again, and Abby was leaning +over her, caressing her, whispering fond things to her like a +lover.</p> + +<p>“There, there, Ellen,” she whispered. “Don't be +mad, don't feel bad. I didn't mean any harm. You are such a +beauty—there's nobody like you in the world—that +everybody thinks that any man who sees you must want you.”</p> + +<p>“Robert Lloyd doesn't, and if he did I wouldn't have +him,” sobbed Ellen.</p> + +<p>“You sha'n't if you don't want him,” said Abby, +consolingly.</p> + +<p>After a while the two girls bathed their eyes with cold water, and +went down-stairs into the sitting-room. Maria was making herself a +blue muslin dress, and her mother was hemming the ruffles. There was +a cheap blue shade on the lamp, and Maria herself was clad in a blue +gingham. All the blue color and the shade on the lamp gave a curious +pallor and unreality to the homely room and the two women. Mrs. +Atkins's hair was strained back from her hollow temples, which had +noble outlines.</p> + +<p>“I'm going to walk a little way with Ellen, she's going +home,” said Abby.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” said her mother. Maria looked wistfully +at them as they went out. She went on sewing on her blue muslin, +rather sadly. She coughed a little.</p> + +<p>“Why don't you put up your sewing for to-night and go to +bed, child?” said her mother.</p> + +<p>“I might as well sit here and sew as go to bed and lie +there. I shouldn't sleep,” replied Maria, with the gentlest +sadness conceivable. There was in it no shadow of complaining. Of +late years all the fire of resistance had seemed to die out in the +girl. She was unfailingly sweet, but nerveless. Often when she raised +a hand it seemed as if she could not even let it fall, as if it must +remain poised by some curious inertia. Still, she went to the shop +every day and did her work faithfully. She pasted linings in shoes, +and her slender little fingers used to fly as if they were driven by +some more subtle machine than any in the factory. Often Maria felt +vaguely as if she were in the grasp of some mighty machine worked by +a mighty operator; she felt, as she pasted the linings, as if she +herself were also a part of some monstrous scheme of work under +greater hands than hers, and there was never any getting back of it. +And always with it all there was that ceaseless, helpless, bewildered +longing for something, she was afraid to think what, which often saps +the strength and life of a young girl. Maria had never had a lover in +her life; she had not even good comrades among young men, as her +sister had. No man at that time would have ever looked twice at her, +unless he had fallen in love with her, and had been disposed to pick +her up and carry her along on the hard road upon which they fared +together. Maria was half fed in every sense; she had not enough +nourishing food for her body, nor love for her heart, nor exercise +for her brain. She had no time to read, as she was forced to sew when +out of the shop if she would have anything to wear. When at last she +went up-stairs to bed, before Abby returned, she sat down by her +window, and leaned her little, peaked chin on the sill and looked +out. The stars were unusually bright for a summer night; the whole +sky seemed filled with a constantly augmenting host of them. The +scent of tobacco came to her from below. To the lonely girl the stars +and the scent of the tobacco served as stimulants; she formed a +forcible wish. “I wish,” she muttered to herself, +“that I was either an angel or a man.” Then the next +minute she chided herself for her wickedness. A great wave of love +for God, and remorse for impatience and melancholy in her earthly +lot, swept over her. She knelt down beside her bed and prayed. An +exultation half-physical, half-spiritual, filled her. When she rose, +her little, thin face was radiant. She seemed to measure the +shortness of the work and woe of the world as between her thumb and +finger. The joy of the divine filled all her longing. When Abby came +home, who shared her chamber, she felt no jealousy. She only inquired +whether she had gone quite home with Ellen. “Yes, I did,” +replied Abby. “I don't think it is safe for her to go past that +lonely place below the Smiths'.”</p> + +<p>“I'm glad you did,” said Maria, with an angelic +inflection in her voice.</p> + +<p>“Robert Lloyd came to see Ellen, and she ran away over here, +and wouldn't see him, because they had all been plaguing her about +him,” said Abby. “I wish she wouldn't do so. It would be +a splendid thing for her to marry him, and I know he likes her, and +his aunt is going to send her to college.”</p> + +<p>“That won't make any difference to Ellen, and everything +will be all right anyway, if only she loved God,” said Maria, +still with that rapt, angelic voice.</p> + +<p>“Shucks!” said Abby. Then she leaned over her sister, +caught her by her little, thin shoulders and shook her tenderly. +“There, I didn't mean to speak so,” said she. +“You're awful good, Maria. I'm glad you've got religion if it's +so much comfort to you. I don't mean to make light of it, but I'm +afraid you ain't well. I'm goin' to get you some more of that tonic +to-morrow.”</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XXXI</h3> + +<p>When Ellen reached home that night she found no one there except +her father, who was sitting on the door-step in the north yard. Her +mother had gone to see her aunt Eva as soon as the dressmaker had +left. “Who was that with you?” Andrew asked, as she drew +near.</p> + +<p>“Abby,” replied Ellen.</p> + +<p>“So you went over there?”</p> + +<p>Ellen sat down on a lower step in front of her father. +“Yes,” said she. She half laughed up in his face, like a +child who knows she has been naughty, yet knows she will not be +blamed since she can count so surely on the indulgent love of the +would-be blamer.</p> + +<p>“Ellen, your mother didn't like it.”</p> + +<p>“They had said so many things to me about him that I didn't +feel as if I could see him, father,” she said.</p> + +<p>Andrew put a hand on her head. “I know what you mean,” +he replied, “but they didn't mean any harm; they're only +looking out for your best good, Ellen. You can't always have us; it +ain't in the course of nature, you know, Ellen.”</p> + +<p>There was a tone of inexorable sadness, the sadness of fate itself +in Andrew's voice. He had, as he spoke, the full realization of that +stage of progress which is simply for the next, which passes to make +room for it. He felt his own nothingness. It was the throe of the +present before the future; it was the pang of anticipatory +annihilation.</p> + +<p>“Don't talk that way, father,” said Ellen. +“Neither you nor mother are old people.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, it's all right, don't you worry,” said +Andrew.</p> + +<p>“How long did he stay?” asked Ellen. She did not look +at her father as she spoke.</p> + +<p>“Oh, he didn't stay at all, after they found out you had +gone.”</p> + +<p>Ellen sighed. After a second Andrew sighed also. “It's +gettin' late,” said he, heavily; “mebbe we'd better go in +before your mother comes, Ellen. Mebbe you'll get cold out +here.”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, I shall not,” said Ellen, “and I want to +hear about poor Aunt Eva. I don't see what she is going to +do.”</p> + +<p>“It's a dreadful thing makin' a mistake in marriage,” +said Andrew.</p> + +<p>“Uncle Jim was a good man if he hadn't had such a hard +time.”</p> + +<p>Andrew looked at her, then he spoke impressively. “Look +here, Ellen,” he said, “you are a good scholar, and you +are smarter in a good many ways than father has ever been, but +there's one thing you want to remember; you want to be sure before +you blame the Lord or other men for a man's goin' wrong, if it ain't +his own fault at the bottom of things.”</p> + +<p>“There's mother,” cried Ellen; “there's mother +and Amabel. Where's Aunt Eva? Oh, father, what do you suppose has +happened? Why do you suppose mother is bringing Amabel +home?”</p> + +<p>“I don't know,” replied Andrew, in a troubled +voice.</p> + +<p>He and Ellen rose and hastened forward to meet Fanny and Amabel. +The child hung at her aunt's hand in a curious, limp, disjointed +fashion; her little face, even in the half light, showed ghastly. +When she saw Ellen she let go of Fanny's hand and ran to her and +threw both her little arms around her in a fierce clutch as of +terror, then she began to sob wildly, “Mamma, mamma, +mamma!”</p> + +<p>Fanny leaned her drawn face forward, and whispered to Andrew and +Ellen over Amabel's head, under cover of her sobs, “Hush, don't +say anything. She's gone mad, and, and—she tried to—kill +Amabel.”</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XXXII</h3> + +<p>Amabel was a very nervous child, and she was in such terror from +her really terrific experience that she threatened to go into +convulsions. Andrew went over for his mother, whom he had always +regarded as an incontestable authority about children. She, after one +sharp splutter of wrath at the whole situation, went to work with the +resolution of an old soldier.</p> + +<p>“Heat some water, quick,” said she to Andrew, +“and get me a wash-tub.”</p> + +<p>Then she told Fanny to brew a mess of sage tea, and began +stripping off Amabel's clothes.</p> + +<p>“Let me alone! Mamma, mamma, mamma!” shrieked the +child. She fought and clawed like a little, wild animal, but the old +woman, in whose arms great strength could still arise for +emergencies, and in whose spirit great strength had never died, got +the better of her.</p> + +<p>When Amabel's clothing was stripped off, and her little, spare +body, which was brown rather than rosy, although she was a blonde, +was revealed, she was as pitiful to see as a wound. Every nerve and +pulse in that tiny frame, about which there was not an ounce of +superfluous flesh, seemed visible. The terrible sensitiveness of the +child appeared on the surface. She shrank, and wailed in a low, +monotonous tone like a spent animal overtaken by pursuers. But Mrs. +Zelotes put her in the tub of warm water, and held her down, though +Amabel's face, emerging from it, had the expression of a wild +thing.</p> + +<p>“There, you keep still!” said she, and her voice was +tender enough, though the decision of it could have moved an +army.</p> + +<p>When Amabel had had her hot bath, and had drunk her sage tea by +compulsory gulps, and been tucked into Ellen's bed, her childhood +reasserted itself. Gradually her body and her bodily needs gained the +ascendancy over the unnatural strain of her mind. She fell asleep, +and lay like one dead. Then Ellen crept down-stairs, though it was +almost midnight, where her father and mother and grandmother were +still talking over the matter. Fanny seemed almost as bad as her +sister. It was evident that there was in the undisciplined Loud +family a dangerous strain if too far pressed. She was lying down on +the lounge, with Andrew holding her hand.</p> + +<p>“Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Poor Eva!” she kept +repeating.</p> + +<p>Then she threw off Andrew's hand, sprang to her feet, and began to +walk the room.</p> + +<p>“She'll be as bad as her sister if she keeps on,” said +Mrs. Zelotes, quite audibly, but Fanny paid no attention to that.</p> + +<p>“What is goin' to be done? Oh, my God, what is goin' to be +done?” she wailed. “There she is locked up with two men +watchin' her lest she do herself a harm, and it's got to cost +eighteen dollars a week, unless she's put in with the State poor, and +then nobody knows how she'll be treated. Oh, poor Eva, poor Eva! +Albert Riggs told me there were awful things done with the State poor +in the asylums. He's been an attendant in one. He says we've got to +pay eighteen dollars a week if we want to have her cared for +decently, and where's the money comin' from?” Fanny raised her +voice higher still.</p> + +<p>“Where's the money comin' from?” she demanded, with an +impious inflection. It was as if she questioned that which is outside +of, and the source of, life. Everything with this woman, whose whole +existence had been bound and tainted by the need of money, resolved +itself into that fundamental question. All her woes hinged upon it; +even her misery was deteriorated by mammon.</p> + +<p>“Where's the money comin' from?” she demanded again. +“There's Jim gone, and all his mother's got is that little, +mortgaged place, and she feeble, and there ain't a cent anywhere, +unless—” She turned fiercely to Andrew, clutching him +hard by the arm.</p> + +<p>“You must take every cent of that money out of the +savings-bank,” she cried, “every cent of it. I'm your +wife, and I've been a good wife to you, you can't say I +haven't.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, of course you have, poor girl! Don't, don't!” +said Andrew, soothingly. He was very pale, and shook from head to +foot as he tried to calm Fanny.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I've been a good, faithful wife,” Fanny went on, +in her high, hysterical voice. “Even your mother can't say that +I haven't; and Eva is my own sister, and you ought to help her. Every +cent of that money will have to come out of the savings-bank, and the +house here will have to be mortgaged; it's only my due. I would do as +much for you if it was your sister. Eva ain't goin' to +suffer.”</p> + +<p>“I guess if you mortgage this house that you had from your +father, to keep a woman whose husband has gone off and left +her,” said Mrs. Zelotes, “I guess if you don't go and get +him back, and get the law to tackle him!”</p> + +<p>Then Fanny turned on her. “Don't you say a word,” said +she. “My sister ain't goin' to suffer, I don't care where the +money comes from. It's mine as much as Andrew's. I've half supported +the family myself sewin' on wrappers, and I've got a right to have my +say. My sister ain't goin' to suffer! Oh, my God, what's goin' to +become of her? Poor Eva, poor Eva! Eighteen dollars a week; that's as +much as Andrew ever earned. Oh, it was awful, it was awful! There, +when I got in there, she had a—knife, the—carving knife, +and she had Amabel's hair all gathered up in one hand, and her head +tipped back, and poor old mother Tenny was holding her arms, and +screamin', and it was all I could do to get the knife away,” +and Fanny stripped up her sleeves, and showed a glancing cut on her +arm.</p> + +<p>“She did that before I got it away from her,” she +said. “Think of it, my own sister! My own sister, who always +thought so much of me, and would have had her own fingers cut to the +bone before she would have let any one touch me or Ellen! Oh, poor +Eva, poor Eva! What is goin' to become of her, what is goin' to +become of her?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Zelotes went out of the house with a jerk of angry decision, +and presently returned with a bottle half full of whiskey.</p> + +<p>“Here,” said she to Ellen, “you pour out a +quarter of a tumbler of this, and fill it up with hot water. I ain't +goin' to have the whole family in an asylum because Jim Tenny has run +off with another woman, if I can help it!”</p> + +<p>The old woman's steady force of will asserted itself over the +hysterical nature of her daughter-in-law. Fanny drank the whiskey and +water and went to bed, half stupefied, and Mrs. Zelotes went +home.</p> + +<p>“You ring the bell in the night if she's taken worse, and +I'll come over,” said she to her son.</p> + +<p>When Ellen and her father were left alone they looked at each +other, each with pity for the other. Andrew laid a tender, trembling +hand on the girl's shoulder. “Somehow it will all come out +right,” he whispered. “You go to bed and go to sleep, and +if Amabel wakes up and makes any trouble you speak to +father.”</p> + +<p>“Don't worry about me, father,” returned Ellen. +“It's you who have the most to worry over.” Then she +added—for the canker of need of money was eating her soul, +too—“Father, what is going to be done? You can't pay all +that for poor Aunt Eva. How much money have you got in the +bank?”</p> + +<p>“Not much, not much, Ellen,” replied Andrew, with a +groan.</p> + +<p>“It wouldn't last very long at eighteen dollars a +week?”</p> + +<p>“No, no.”</p> + +<p>“It doesn't seem as if you ought to mortgage the house when +you and mother are getting older. Father—”</p> + +<p>“What, Ellen?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” said Ellen, after a little pause. It had +been on her lips to tell him that she must go to work, then she +refrained. There was something in her father's face which forbade her +doing so.</p> + +<p>“Go to bed, Ellen, and get rested,” said Andrew. Then +he rubbed his head against hers with his curious, dog-like method of +caress, and kissed her forehead.</p> + +<p>“You go to sleep and get rested yourself, father,” +said Ellen.</p> + +<p>“I guess I won't undress to-night, but I'll lay on the +lounge,” said Andrew.</p> + +<p>“Well, you speak to me if mother wakes up and takes on +again. Maybe I can do something.”</p> + +<p>“All right, dear child,” said Andrew, lovingly and +wearily. He had a look as if some mighty wind had passed over him and +he were beaten down under it, except for that one single uprearing of +love which no tempest could fairly down.</p> + +<p>Ellen went up-stairs, and lay down beside poor little Amabel +without undressing herself. The child stirred, but not to awake, when +she settled down beside her, and reached over her poor little claw of +a hand to the girl, who clasped it fervently, and slipped a +protecting arm under the tiny shoulders. Then the little thing +nestled close to Ellen, with a movement of desperate seeking for +protection. “There, there, darling, Ellen will take care of +you,” whispered Ellen. But Amabel did not hear.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XXXIII</h3> + +<p>The next afternoon poor Eva Tenny was carried away, and Andrew +accompanied the doctor who had her in charge, as being the only +available male relative. As he dressed himself in his Sunday suit, he +was aware—to such pitiful passes had financial straits brought +him—of a certain self-congratulation, that he would not be at +home when the dressmaker asked for money that night, and that no one +would expect him to go to the bank under such circumstances. But +Andrew, in his petty consideration as to personal benefit from such +dire calamity, reckoned without another narrow traveller. Miss +Higgins stopped him as he was going out of the door, looking as if +bound to a funeral in his shabby Sunday black, with his solemn, sad +face under his well-brushed hat.</p> + +<p>“I hate to say anything when you're in such trouble, Mr. +Brewster,” said she, “but I do need the money to pay a +bill, and I was wondering if you could leave what was due me +yesterday, and what will be due me to-day.”</p> + +<p>But Fanny came with a rush to Andrew's relief. She was in that +state of nervous tension that she was fairly dangerous if irritated. +“Look here, Miss Higgins,” said she. “We hesitated +a good deal about havin' you come here to-day, anyway. Ellen wanted +to send you word not to. We are in such awful trouble, that she said +it didn't seem right for her to be thinkin' about new clothes, but I +told her she'd got to have the things if she was going to college, +and so we decided to have you come, but we 'ain't had any time nor +any heart to think of money. We've got plenty to pay you in the bank, +but my husband 'ain't had any time to go there this mornin', what +with seein' the doctor, and gettin' the certificate for my poor +sister, and all I've got to say is: if you're so dreadful afraid as +all this comes to, that you have to lose all sense of decency, and +dun folks so hard, in such trouble as we be, you can put on your +things and go jest as quick as you have a mind to, and I'll get Miss +Patch to finish the work. I've been more than half a mind to have +her, anyway. I was very strongly advised to. Lots of folks have +talked to me against your fittin', but I've always had you, and I +thought I'd give you the chance. Now if you don't want it, you jest +pack up and go, and the quicker the better. You shall have your pay +as soon as Mr. Brewster can get round after he has carried my poor +sister to the asylum. You needn't worry.” Fanny said the last +with a sarcasm which seemed to reach out with a lash of bitterness +like a whip. The other woman winced, her eyes were hard, but her +voice was appeasing.</p> + +<p>“Now, I didn't think you'd take it so, Mrs. Brewster, or I +wouldn't have said anything,” she almost wheedled. “You +know I ain't afraid of not gettin' my pay, I—”</p> + +<p>“You'd better not be,” said Fanny.</p> + +<p>“Of course I ain't. I know Mr. Brewster has steady work, and +I know your folks have got money.”</p> + +<p>“We've got money enough not to be beholden to +anybody,” said Fanny. “Andrew, you'd better be goin' +along or you'll be late.”</p> + +<p>Andrew went out of the yard with his head bent miserably. He had +felt ashamed of his fear, he felt still more ashamed of his relief. +He wondered, going down the street, if it might not be a happier lot +to lose one's wits like poor Eva, rather than have them to the full +responsibility of steering one's self through such straits of +misery.</p> + +<p>“I hope you won't think I meant any harm,” the +dressmaker said to Fanny, quite humbly.</p> + +<p>There was that about the sister of another woman who was being +carried off to an insane asylum which was fairly intimidating.</p> + +<p>Miss Higgins sewed meekly during the remainder of the day, having +all the time a wary eye upon Fanny. She went home before supper, +urging a headache as an excuse. She was in reality afraid of +Fanny.</p> + +<p>Andrew was inexpressibly relieved when he reached home to find +that the dressmaker was gone, and Fanny, having sent Amabel to bed, +was chiefly anxious to know how her sister had reached the asylum. It +was not until the latter part of the evening that she brought up the +subject of the bank. “Do look out to-morrow, Andrew Brewster, +and be sure to take that money out of the bank to pay Miss +Higgins,” she said. “As for being dunned again by that +woman, I won't! It's the last time I'll ever have her, anyway. As far +as that is concerned, all the money will have to come out of the bank +if poor Eva is to be kept where she is. How much money was there that +she had?”</p> + +<p>“Just fifty-two dollars and seventy cents,” replied +Andrew. “Jim had left a little that he'd scraped together +somehow, with the letter he wrote to her, and he told her if he had +work he'd send her more.”</p> + +<p>“I'd die before I'd touch it,” said Fanny, fiercely. +Then she looked at Andrew with sudden pity. “Poor old +man,” she said; “it's mighty hard on you when you're +gettin' older, and you never say a word to complain. But I don't see +any other way than to take that money, do you?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Andrew.</p> + +<p>“And you don't think I'm hard to ask it, Andrew?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“God knows if it was your sister and my money, I would take +every dollar. You know I would, Andrew.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know,” replied Andrew, hoarsely.</p> + +<p>“Mebbe she'll get better before it's quite gone,” said +Fanny. “You say the doctor gave some hope?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he did, if she was taken proper care of.”</p> + +<p>“Well, she shall be. I'll go out and steal before she +sha'n't have proper care. Poor Eva!” Fanny burst into the +hysterical wailing which had shaken her from head to foot at +intervals during the last twenty-four hours. Andrew shuddered, +thinking that he detected in her cries a resemblance to her sister's +ravings. “Don't, don't, Fanny,” he pleaded. “Don't, +poor girl.” He put his arm around her, and she wept on his +shoulder, but with less abandon. “After all, we've got each +other, and we've got Ellen, haven't we, Andrew?” she +sobbed.</p> + +<p>“Yes, thank God,” said Andrew. “Don't, +Fanny.”</p> + +<p>“That—that's more than money, more than all the wages +for all the labor in the world, and that we've got, haven't we, +Andrew? We've got what comes to us direct from God, haven't we? Don't +think I'm silly, Andrew—haven't we?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, we have—you are right, Fanny,” +replied Andrew.</p> + +<p>“I guess I am, too,” she assented, looking up in +Andrew's poor, worn face with eyes of sudden bravery. “We'll +get along somehow—don't you worry, old man. I guess we'll come +out all right, somehow. We'll use that money in the bank as far as it +goes, and then I guess some way will be opened.”</p> + +<p>Then there came over Andrew's exaltation, to which Fanny's words +had spurred his flagging spirit, a damper of utter mortification and +guilt. He felt that he could bear this no longer. He opened his mouth +to tell her what he had done with the money in the bank, when there +came a knock on the door, and Fanny fled into the bedroom. She had +unfastened her dress, and her face was stained with tears. She shut +the bedroom door tightly as Andrew opened the outer one.</p> + +<p>The man who had loaned him the money to buy Ellen's watch stood +there. His name was William Evarts, and he worked in the +stitching-room of McGuire's factory, in which Andrew was employed. He +was reported well-to-do, and to have amassed considerable money from +judicious expenditures of his savings, and to be strictly honest, but +hard in his dealings. He was regarded with a covert disfavor by his +fellow-workmen, as if he were one of themselves who had somehow +elevated himself to a superior height by virtue of their backs. If +William Evarts had acquired prosperity through gambling in mines, +they would have had none of that feeling; they would have recognized +the legitimacy of luck in the conduct of affairs. He was in a way a +reproach to them. “Why can't you get along and save as well as +William Evarts?” many a man's monitor asked of him. “He +doesn't earn any more than you do, and has had as many expenses in +his family.” The man not being able to answer the question to +his own credit, disliked William Evarts who had instigated it.</p> + +<p>Andrew, who had in his character a vein of sterling justice, yet +felt that he almost hated William Evarts as he stood there before +him, small and spare, snapping as it were with energy like electric +wires, the strong lines in his clean-shaven face evident in the glare +of the street-lamp.</p> + +<p>“Good-evening,” Andrew said, and he spoke like a +criminal before a judge, and at that moment he felt like one.</p> + +<p>“Good-evening,” responded the other man. Then he +added, in a hushed voice at first, for he had fineness to appreciate +a sort of indecency in dunning, in asking a man for even his rightful +due, and he had a regard for possible listening ears of femininity, +“I was passing by, and I thought I'd call and see if it was +convenient for you to pay me that money.”</p> + +<p>“I'm sorry,” Andrew responded, with utter subjection. +He looked and felt ignoble. “I haven't got it, +Evarts.”</p> + +<p>“When are you going to have it?” asked the other, in a +slightly raised, ominous voice.</p> + +<p>“Just as soon as I can possibly get it,” replied +Andrew, softly and piteously. Ellen's chamber was directly overhead. +He thought of the possibility of her overhearing.</p> + +<p>“Look at here, Andrew Brewster,” said the other man, +and this time with brutal, pitiless force. When it came to the +prospect of losing money he became as merciless as a machine. +Something diabolical in remorselessness seemed to come to the +surface, and reveal wheels of grinding for his fellow-men. +“Look at here,” he said, “I want to know right out, +and no dodging. Have you got the money to pay me—yes or +no?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Andrew then, with a manliness born of +desperation. He had the feeling of one who will die fighting. He +wished that Evarts would speak lower on account of Ellen, but he was +prepared to face even that. The man's speech came with the gliddering +rush of an electric car; it was a concentration of words into one +intensity of meaning; he elided everything possible, he ran all his +words together. He spoke something in this wise: +“GoddamnyouAndrewBrewster, for comin'to borrow money to buy +your girl a watch when you had nothin' to pay for't with, +whatbusinesshadyourgirlwithawatchanyhow,I'dliket'know? My +girl'ain'tgotno watch. I'veputmymoneyinthebank. It'srobbery. +I'llhavethelawonye. I'llsueyou. I'll—”</p> + +<p>At that moment something happened. The man, William Evarts, who +was talking with a vociferousness which seemed cutting and lacerating +to the ear, who was brandishing an arm for emphasis in a circle of +frenzy, fairly jumped to one side. The girl, Ellen Brewster, in a +light wrapper, which she had thrown over her night-gown, came with +such a speed down the stairs which led to the entry directly before +the door, that she seemed to be flying. White ruffles eddied around +her little feet, her golden hair was floating out like a flag. She +came close to William Evarts. “Will you please not speak so +loud,” said she, in a voice which her father had never heard +from her lips before. It was a voice of pure command, and of command +which carried with it the consciousness of power to enforce. She +stood before William Evarts, and her fine smallness seemed +intensified by her spirit to magnificence. The man shrank back a +little, he had the impression as of some one overtowering him, and +yet the girl came scarcely to his shoulder. “Please do not +speak so loud, you will wake Amabel,” she said, and Evarts +muttered, like a dog under a whip, that he didn't want to wake her +up.</p> + +<p>“You must not,” said Ellen. “Now here is the +watch and chain. I suppose that will do as well as your money if you +cannot afford to wait for my father to pay you. My father will pay +you in time. He has never borrowed anything of any man which he has +not meant to pay back, and will not pay back. If you cannot afford to +wait, take the watch and chain.”</p> + +<p>The man looked at her stupefied.</p> + +<p>“Here,” said Ellen; “take it.”</p> + +<p>“I don't want your watch an' chain,” muttered +Evarts.</p> + +<p>“You have either got to take them or wait for your +money,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>“I'll wait,” said Evarts. He was looking at the girl's +face with mingled sentiments of pity, admiration, and terror.</p> + +<p>“Very well, then,” said Ellen. “I will promise +you, and my father will, that you shall have your money in time, but +how long do you want to wait?”</p> + +<p>“I'll wait any time. I ain't in any straits for the money, +if I get it in the end,” said Evarts.</p> + +<p>“You will get it in the end,” said Ellen. Evarts +turned to Andrew.</p> + +<p>“Look here, give me your note for six months,” said +he, “and we'll call it all right.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Andrew, again.</p> + +<p>“If you are not satisfied with that,” said Ellen, with +a tone as if she were conferring inestimable benefits, so proud it +was, “you can take the watch and chain. It is not hurt in the +least. Here.” She was fairly insolent. Evarts regarded her +with a mixture of admiration and terror. He told somebody the next +day that Andrew Brewster had a stepper of a daughter, but he did not +give his reasons for the statement. He had a sense of honor, and he +had been in love with a girl as young before he married his wife, who +had been a widow older than he, worth ten thousand dollars from her +first husband. He could no more have taken the girl's watch and chain +than he would have killed her.</p> + +<p>“I'm quite satisfied,” he replied to her, making a +repellant motion towards the watch and dangling chain glittering in +the electric-light.</p> + +<p>“Very well, then,” said Ellen, and she threw the chain +over her neck.</p> + +<p>“You just bring that I O U to the shop to-mor-mor,” +said Evarts to Andrew; then, with a “Good-evening,” he +was off. They heard him hail an electric-car passing, and that, +although he never took a car, but walked to save the fare. He had +been often heard to say that he for one did not support the street +railroad.</p> + +<p>After he had gone, Ellen turned to her father, and flung a silent +white arm slipping from her sleeve loose around his neck, and pulled +his head to her shoulder. “Now look here, father,” she +said, “you've been through lots to-day, and you'd better go to +bed and go to sleep. I don't think mother was waked up—if she +had been, she would have been out here.”</p> + +<p>“Look here, Ellen, I want to tell you,” Andrew began, +pitifully. He was catching his breath like a child with sobs.</p> + +<p>“I don't want to hear anything,” replied Ellen, +firmly. “Whatever you did was right, father.”</p> + +<p>“I ought to tell you, Ellen!”</p> + +<p>“You ought to tell me nothing,” said Ellen. “You +are all tired out, father. You can't do anything that isn't right for +me. Now go to bed and go to sleep.”</p> + +<p>Ellen stroked her father's thin gray hair with exactly the same +tender touch with which he had so often stroked her golden locks. It +was an inheritance of love reverting to its original source. She +kissed him on his lined forehead with her flower-like lips, then she +pushed him gently away. “Go softly, and don't wake +mother,” whispered she; “and, father, there's no need to +trouble her with this. Good-night.”</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XXXIV</h3> + +<p>Ellen's deepest emotion was pity for her father, so intense that +it was actual physical pain.</p> + +<p>“Poor father! Poor father! He had to borrow the money to buy +me my watch and chain,” she kept repeating to herself. +“Poor father!”</p> + +<p>To her New England mind, borrowing seemed almost like robbing. She +actually felt as if her father had committed a crime for love of her, +but all she looked at was the love, not the guilt. Suddenly a +conviction which fairly benumbed her came over her—the money in +the savings-bank; that little hoard, which had been to the +imagination of herself and her mother a sheet-anchor against poverty, +must be gone. “Father must have used if for something unbeknown +to mother,” she said to herself—“he must, else he +would not have told Mr. Evarts that he could not pay him.” It +was a hot night, but the girl shivered as she realized for the first +time the meaning of the wolf at the door. “All we've got left +is this house—this house and—and—our hands,” +thought Ellen. She saw before her her father's poor, worn hands, her +mother's thin, tired hands, jerking the thread in and out of those +shameful wrappers; then she looked at her own, as yet untouched by +toil, as white and small and fair as flowers. She thought of the four +years before her at college, four years before she could earn +anything—and in the mean time? She looked at the pile of her +school-books on the table. She had been studying hard all summer. The +thirst for knowledge was as intense in her as the thirst for +stimulants in a drunkard.</p> + +<p>“I ought to give up going to college, and go to work in the +shop,” Ellen said to herself, and she said it as one might +drive a probing-knife into a sore. “I ought to,” she +repeated. And yet she was far from resolving to give up college. She +began to argue with herself the expediancy, supposing that the money +in the bank was gone, of putting a mortgage on the house. If her +father continued to have work, they might get along and pay for her +aunt, who might, as the doctor had said, not be obliged to remain +long in the asylum if properly cared for. Would it not, after all, be +better, since by a course at college she would be fitted to command a +larger salary than she could in any other way. “I can support +them all,” reflected Ellen. At that time the thought of Robert +Lloyd, and that awakening of heart which he had brought to pass, were +in abeyance. Old powers had asserted themselves. This love for her +own blood and their need came between her and this new love, half of +the senses, half of the spirit.</p> + +<p>Amabel waked up in the early sultry dawn of the summer day with +the bewilderment of one in a new world. She stared at the walls of +the room, at the shaft of sunlight streaming in the window, then at +Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Where am I?” she inquired, in a loud, querulous +plaint. Then she remembered, but she did not cry; instead, her little +face took on a painfully old look.</p> + +<p>“You are here with cousin Ellen, darling, don't you +know?” Ellen replied, leaning over her, and kissing her.</p> + +<p>Amabel wriggled impatiently away, and faced to the wall. +“Yes, I know,” said she.</p> + +<p>That morning Amabel would not eat any breakfast, and Fanny +suggested that Ellen take her for a ride on the street-cars. +“We can get along without you for an hour,” she +whispered, “and I am afraid that child will be sick.”</p> + +<p>So Ellen and Amabel set out, leaving Fanny and the dressmaker at +work, and when they were returning past the factories the noon +whistles were blowing and the operatives were streaming forth.</p> + +<p>Ellen was surprised to see her father among them as the car swept +past. He walked down the street towards home, his dinner-bag dangling +at his side, his back more bent than ever.</p> + +<p>She wondered uneasily if her father was ill, for he never went +home to dinner. She looked back at him as the car swept past, but he +did not seem to see her. He walked with an air of seeing nothing, +covering the ground like an old dog with some patient, dumb end in +view, heeding nothing by the way. It puzzled her also that her father +had come out of Lloyd's instead of McGuire's, where he had been +employed all summer. Ellen, after she reached home, watched anxiously +for her father to come into the yard, but she did not see him. She +assisted about the dinner, which was a little extra on account of the +dressmaker, and all the time she glanced with covert anxiety at the +window, but her father did not pass it. Finally, when she went out to +the pump for a pitcher of water, she set the pitcher down, and sped +to the orchard like a wild thing. A suspicion had seized her that her +father was there.</p> + +<p>Sure enough, there he was, but instead of lying face down on the +grass, as he had done before, he was sitting back against a tree. He +had the air of having settled into such a long lease of despair that +he had sought the most comfortable position for it. His face was +ghastly. He looked at Ellen as she drew near, and opened his mouth as +if to speak, but instead he only caught his breath. He stared hard at +her, then he closed his eyes as if not to see her, and motioned her +away with one hand with an inarticulate noise in his throat.</p> + +<p>But Ellen sat down beside him. She caught his two hands and looked +at him. “Father, look at me,” said she, and Andrew opened +his eyes. The expression in them was dreadful, compounded of shame +and despair and dread, but the girl's met them with a sort of glad +triumph and strength of love. “Now look here, father,” +she said, “you tell me all about it. I didn't want to know last +night. Now I want to know. What is the matter?”</p> + +<p>Andrew continued to look at her, then all at once he spoke with a +kind of hoarse shout. “I'm discharged! I'm discharged,” +he said, “from McGuire's; they've got a boy who can move faster +in my place—a boy for less pay, who can move faster. I hurried +over to Lloyd's to see if they would take me on again; I've always +thought I should get back into Lloyd's, and I saw the foreman, and he +told me to my face that I was too old, that they wanted younger men. +And I went into the office to see Lloyd, pushed past the foreman, +with him damning me, and I saw Lloyd.”</p> + +<p>“Was young Mr. Lloyd there?” asked Ellen, with white +lips.</p> + +<p>“No; I guess he had gone to dinner. And Lloyd looked at me, +and I believe he counted every gray hair in my head, and he saw my +back, and he saw my hands, and he said—he said I was too +old.”</p> + +<p>Andrew snatched his hands from Ellen's grasp, pressed them to his +face, and broke into weeping. “Oh, my God, I'm too old, I'm too +old!” he sobbed; “I'm out of it! I'm too old!”</p> + +<p>Ellen regarded him, and her face had developed lines of strength +hitherto unrevealed. There was no pity in it, hardly love; she looked +angry and powerful. “Father, stop doing so, and look at +me,” she said. She dragged her father's hands from his face, +and he stared at her with his inflamed eyes, half terrified, half +sustained. At that moment he realized a strength of support as from +his own lost youth, a strength as of eternal progress which was more +to be relied upon than other human strength. For the first time he +leaned on his child, and realized with wonder the surety of the +stay.</p> + +<p>“Now, father, you stop doing so,” said Ellen. +“You can get work somewhere; you are not old. Call yourself +old! It is nonsense. Are you going to give in and be old because two +men tell you that you are? What if your hair is gray! Ever so many +young men have gray hair. You are not old, and you can get work +somewhere. McGuire's and Lloyd's are not the only factories in the +country.”</p> + +<p>“That ain't all,” said Andrew, with eyes like a +beseeching dog's on her face.</p> + +<p>“I know that isn't all,” said Ellen. “You +needn't be afraid to tell me, father. You have taken the money out of +the savings-bank for something.”</p> + +<p>Again Andrew would have snatched his hands from the girl's and +hidden his face, but she held them fast. “Yes, I have,” +he admitted, in a croaking voice.</p> + +<p>“Well, what if you have?” asked Ellen. “You had +a right to take it out, didn't you? You put it in. I don't know of +anybody who had a better right to take it out than you, if you wanted +to.”</p> + +<p>Andrew stared at her, as if he did not hear rightly. “You +don't know what I did with it, Ellen,” he stammered.</p> + +<p>“It is nobody's business,” replied Ellen. She had an +unexplained sensation as if she were holding fast to her father's +slipping self-respect which was dragging hard at her restraining +love.</p> + +<p>“I put it in a worthless gold-mine out in Colorado—the +same one your uncle Jim lost his money in,” groaned Andrew.</p> + +<p>“Well, it was your money, and you had a perfect right +to,” said Ellen. “Of course you thought the mine was all +right or you wouldn't have put the money into it.”</p> + +<p>“God knows I did.”</p> + +<p>“Well, the best business men in the world make mistakes. It +is nobody's business whether you took the money out or not, or what +you used it for, father.”</p> + +<p>“I don't see how the bills are going to be paid, and there's +your poor aunt,” said Andrew. He was leaning more and more +heavily upon this new tower of strength, this tender little girl whom +he had hitherto shielded and supported. The beautiful law of reverse +of nature had come into force.</p> + +<p>Ellen set her mouth firmly. “Don't you worry, father,” +said she. “We will think of some way out of it. There's a +little money to pay for Aunt Eva, and maybe she won't be sick long. +Does mother know, father?”</p> + +<p>“She don't know about anything, Ellen,” replied +Andrew, wretchedly.</p> + +<p>“I know she doesn't know about your getting thrown out of +work—but about the bank?”</p> + +<p>“No, Ellen.”</p> + +<p>Ellen rose. “You stay here, where it is cool, till I ring +the dinner-bell, father,” she said.</p> + +<p>“I don't want any dinner, child.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you do, father. If you don't eat your dinner you will +be sick. You come when the bell rings.”</p> + +<p>Andrew knew that he should obey, as he saw the girl's light dress +disappear among the trees.</p> + +<p>Ellen went back to the pump, and carried her pitcher of water into +the house. Her mother met her at the door. “Where have you been +all this time, Ellen Brewster?” she asked, in a high voice. +“Everything is getting as cold as a stone.”</p> + +<p>Ellen caught her mother's arm and drew her into the kitchen, and +closed the door. Fanny turned pale as death and looked at her. +“Well, what has happened now?” she said. “Is your +father killed?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Ellen, “but he is out of work, and he +can't get a job at Lloyd's, and he took all that money out of the +savings-bank a long time ago, and put it into that gold-mine that +Uncle Jim lost in.”</p> + +<p>Fanny clutched the girl's arm in a grasp so hard that it left a +blue mark on the tender flesh. She looked at her, but did not speak +one word.</p> + +<p>“Now, mother,” said Ellen, “you must not say one +word to father to scold him. He's got enough to bear as it +is.”</p> + +<p>Fanny pushed her away with sudden fierceness. “I guess I +don't need to have my own daughter teach me my duty to my +husband,” said she. “Where is he?”</p> + +<p>“Down in the orchard.”</p> + +<p>“Well, ring the bell for dinner loud, so he can hear +it.”</p> + +<p>When Andrew came shuffling wearily up from the orchard, Fanny met +him at the corner of the house, out of sight from the windows. She +was flushed and perspiring, clad in a coarse cotton wrapper, +revealing all her unkempt curves. She went close to him, and thrust +one large arm through his. “Look here, Andrew,” said she, +in the tenderest voice he had ever heard from her, a voice so tender +that it was furious, “you needn't say one word. What's done's +done. We shall get along somehow. I ain't afraid. Come in and eat +your dinner!”</p> + +<p>The dressmaking work went on as usual after dinner. Andrew had +disappeared, going down the road towards the shop. He tried for a job +at Briggs's, with no success, then drifted to the corner grocery.</p> + +<p>Ellen sat until nearly three o'clock sewing. Then she went +up-stairs and got her hat, and went secretly out of the back door, +through the west yard, that her mother should not see her. However, +her grandmother called after her, and wanted to know where she was +going.</p> + +<p>“Down street, on an errand,” answered Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Well, keep on the shady side,” called her +grandmother, thinking the girl was bound to the stores for some +dressmaking supplies.</p> + +<p>That night Miss Higgins did not ask for her pay; she had made up +her mind to wait until her week was finished. She went away after +supper, and Ellen followed her to the door. “We won't want you +to-morrow, Miss Higgins,” said she, “and here is your +pay.” With that she handed a roll of bills to the woman, who +stared at her in amazement and growing resentment.</p> + +<p>“If my work ain't satisfactory,” said she—</p> + +<p>“Your work is satisfactory,” said Ellen, “but I +don't want any more work done. I am not going to college.”</p> + +<p>There was something conclusive and intimidating about Ellen's look +and tone. The dressmaker, who had been accustomed to regard her as a +child, stared at her with awe, as before a sudden revelation of +force. Then she took her money, and went down the walk.</p> + +<p>When Ellen re-entered the sitting-room her father and mother, who +had overheard every word, confronted her.</p> + +<p>“Ellen Brewster, what does this mean?”</p> + +<p>Andrew looked as if he would presently fall to the floor.</p> + +<p>“It means,” said Ellen—and she looked at her +parents with the brave enthusiasm of a soldier on her beautiful +face—she even laughed—“it means that I am going to +work—I have got a job in Lloyd's.”</p> + +<p>When Ellen made that announcement, her mother did a strange thing. +She ran swiftly to a corner of the room, and stood there, staring at +the girl, with back hugged close to the intersection of the walls, as +if she would withdraw as far as possible from some threatening ill. +At that moment she looked alarmingly like her sister; there was +something about Fanny in her corner, calculated, when all +circumstances were taken into consideration, to make one's blood +chill, but Andrew did not look at her. He was intent upon Ellen, and +the facing of the worst agony of his life, and Ellen was intent upon +him. She loved her mother, but the fear as to her father's suffering +moved her more than her mother's. She was more like her father, and +could better estimate his pain under stress. Andrew rose to his feet +and stood looking at Ellen, and she at him. She tried to meet the +drawn misery and incredulousness of his face with a laugh of +reassurance.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I've got a job in Lloyd's,” said she. +“What's the matter, father?”</p> + +<p>Then Andrew made an almost inarticulate response; it sounded like +a croak in an unknown tongue.</p> + +<p>Ellen continued to look at him, and to laugh.</p> + +<p>“Now look here, father,” said she. “There is no +need for you and mother to feel bad over this. I have thought it all +over, and I have made up my mind. I have got a good high-school +education now, and the four years I should have to spend at Vassar I +could do nothing at all. There is awful need of money here, and not +only for us, but for Aunt Eva and Amabel.”</p> + +<p>“You sha'n't do it!” Andrew burst out then, in a great +shout of rage. “I'll mortgage the house—that'll last +awhile. You sha'n't, I say! You are my child, and you've got to +listen. You sha'n't, I say!”</p> + +<p>“Now, father,” responded Ellen's voice, which seemed +to have in it a wonderful tone of firmness against which his agonized +vociferousness broke as against a rock, “this is nonsense. You +must not mortgage the house. The house is all you have got for your +and mother's old age. Do you think I could go to college, and let you +give up the house in order to keep me there? And as for grandma +Brewster, you know what's hers is hers as long as she lives—we +don't want to think of that. I have got this job now, which is only +three dollars a week, but in a year the foreman said I might earn +fifteen or eighteen, if I was quick and smart, and I will be quick +and smart. It is the best thing for us all, father.”</p> + +<p>“You sha'n't!” shouted Andrew. “I say you +sha'n't!”</p> + +<p>Suddenly Andrew sank into a chair, his head lopped, he kept moving +a hand before his eyes, as if he were brushing away cobwebs. Then +Fanny came out of her corner.</p> + +<p>“Get the camphor, quick!” she said to Ellen. “I +dun'no' but you've killed your father.”</p> + +<p>Fanny held her husband's head against her shoulder, and rubbed his +hands frantically. The awful strained look had gone from her face. +Ellen came with the camphor, and then went for water. Fanny rubbed +Andrew's forehead with the camphor, and held the bottle to his nose. +“Smell it, Andrew,” she said, in a voice of ineffable +tenderness and pity. Ellen returned with a glass of water, and Andrew +swallowed a little obediently. Finally he made out to stagger into +the bedroom with Fanny's and Ellen's assistance. He sat down weakly +on the bed, and Fanny lifted his legs up. Then he sank and closed his +eyes as if he were spent. In fact, he was. At that moment of Ellen's +announcement some vital energy in him suddenly relaxed like +overstrained rubber. His face, sunken in the pillow, was both ghastly +and meek. It was the face of a man who could fight no more. Ellen +knelt down beside him, sobbing.</p> + +<p>“Oh, father!” she sobbed, “I think it is for the +best. Dear father, you won't feel bad.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Andrew, faintly. There was a slight +twitching in his hand, as if he wished to put it on her head, then it +lay thin and inert on the coverlid. He tried to smile, but his face +settled into that look of utter acquiescence of fate.</p> + +<p>“I s'pose it's the best you can do,” he muttered.</p> + +<p>“Have you told Miss Lennox?” gasped Fanny.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“What did she say?”</p> + +<p>“She was sorry, but she made no objection,” replied +Ellen, evasively.</p> + +<p>Fanny came forward abruptly, caught up the camphor-bottle, and +began bathing Andrew's forehead again.</p> + +<p>“We won't say any more about it,” said she, in a harsh +voice. “You'd better go over to your grandma Brewster's and see +if she has got any whiskey. I think your father needs to take +something.”</p> + +<p>“I don't want anything,” said Andrew, feebly.</p> + +<p>“Yes, you do, too, you are as white as a sheet. Go over and +ask her, Ellen.”</p> + +<p>Ellen ran across the yard to her grandmother's, and the old woman +met her at the door. She seemed to have an instinctive knowledge of +trouble.</p> + +<p>“What's the matter?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Father's a little faint, and mother wants me to borrow the +whiskey,” said Ellen. She had not at that time the courage to +tell her grandmother what she had done.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Zelotes ran into the house, and came out with the bottle.</p> + +<p>“I'm comin' over,” she announced. “I'm kind of +worried about your father; he 'ain't looked well for some time. I +wonder what made him faint. Maybe he ate something which hurt +him.”</p> + +<p>Ellen said nothing. She fled up-stairs to her chamber, as her +grandmother entered the bedroom. She felt cowardly, but she thought +that she would let her mother tell the news.</p> + +<p>She sat down and waited. She knew that presently she would hear +the old woman's voice at the foot of the stairs. She was resolved +upon her course, and knew that she could not be shaken in it, yet she +dreaded unspeakably the outburst of grief and anger which she knew +would come from her grandmother. She felt as if she had faced two +fires, and now before the third she quailed a little.</p> + +<p>It was not long before the expected summons came.</p> + +<p>“Ellen—Ellen Brewster, come down here!”</p> + +<p>Ellen went down. Her grandmother met her at the foot of the +stairs. She was trembling from head to foot; her mouth twisted and +wavered as if she had the palsy.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Ellen Brewster, this ain't true?” she +stammered.</p> + +<p>“Yes, grandma,” answered Ellen. “I have thought +it all over, and it is the only thing for me to do.”</p> + +<p>Her grandmother clutched her arm, and the girl felt as if she were +in the grasp of another will, which was more conclusive than +steel.</p> + +<p>“You sha'n't!” she said, whispering, lest Andrew +should hear, but with intense force.</p> + +<p>“I've got to, grandma. We've got to have the +money.”</p> + +<p>“The money,” said the old woman, with an inflection of +voice and a twist of her features indicative of the most superb +scorn—“the money! I guess you ain't goin' to lose such a +chance as that for money. I guess I've got two hundred and ten +dollars a year income, and I'll give up a half of that, and Andrew +can put a mortgage on the house, if that Tenny woman has got to be +supported because her husband has run off and left her and her young +one. You sha'n't go to work in a shop.”</p> + +<p>“I've got to, grandma,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>The old woman looked at her. It was like a duel between two strong +wills of an old race. “You sha'n't,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I shall, grandma.”</p> + +<p>Then the old woman turned upon her in a fury of rage.</p> + +<p>“You're a Loud all over, Ellen Brewster,” said she. +“You 'ain't got a mite of Brewster about you. You 'ain't got +any pride! You'd just as soon settle down and work in a shop as do +anything else.”</p> + +<p>Fanny pushed before her. “Look here, Mother Brewster,” +said she, “you can just stop! Ellen is my daughter, and you +'ain't any right to talk to her this way. I won't have it. If anybody +is goin' to blame her, it's me.”</p> + +<p>“Who be you?” said Mrs. Zelotes, sniffing.</p> + +<p>Then she looked at them both, at Ellen and at her mother.</p> + +<p>“If you go an' do what you've planned,” said she to +Ellen, “an' if you uphold her in it,” to Fanny, +“I've done with you.”</p> + +<p>“Good riddance,” said Fanny, coarsely.</p> + +<p>“I ain't goin' to forget that you said that,” cried +Mrs. Zelotes. She held up her dress high in front and went out of the +door. “I ain't comin' over here again, an' I'll thank you to +stay at home,” said she. Then she went away.</p> + +<p>Soon after Fanny heard Ellen in the dining-room setting the table +for supper, and went out.</p> + +<p>“Where did you get that money you paid the dressmaker +with?” she asked, abruptly.</p> + +<p>“I borrowed it of Abby,” replied Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Then she knows?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>Fanny continued to look at Ellen with the look of one who is +settling down with resignation under some knife of agony.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said she, “there's no need to talk any +more about it before your father. Now I guess you had better toast +him some bread for his supper.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I will,” replied Ellen. She looked at her mother +pitifully, and yet with that firmness which had seemed to suddenly +develop in her. “You know it is the best thing for me to do, +mother?” she said, and although she put it in the form of a +question, the statement was commanding in its assertiveness.</p> + +<p>“When are you—goin' to work?” asked Fanny.</p> + +<p>“Next Monday,” replied Ellen.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XXXV</h3> + +<p>When Ellen had gone to the factory to apply for work neither of +the Lloyds were in the office, only a girl at the desk, whom she knew +slightly. Ellen had hesitated a little as she approached the girl, +who looked around with a friendly smile.</p> + +<p>“I want to see—” Ellen began, then she stopped, +for she did not exactly know for whom she should ask. The girl, who +was blond and trim, clad coquettishly in a blue shirt-waist and a +duck skirt, with a large, cheap rhinestone pin confining the loop of +her yellow braids, looked at her in some bewilderment. She had heard +of Ellen's good-fortune, and knew she was to be sent to Vassar by +Cynthia Lennox. She did not dream that she had come to ask for +employment.</p> + +<p>“You want to see Mr. Lloyd?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Oh no!” replied Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Robert Lloyd?” The girl, whose name was Nellie +Stone, laughed a little meaningly as she said that.</p> + +<p>Ellen blushed. “No,” she said. “I think I want +to see the foreman.”</p> + +<p>“Which foreman?”</p> + +<p>“I don't know,” replied Ellen. “I want to get +work if I can. I don't know which foreman I ought to see.”</p> + +<p>“To get work?” repeated the girl, with a subtle change +in her manner.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Ellen. She could hear her heart beat, but +she looked at the other girl's pretty, common face with the most +perfect calmness.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Flynn is the one you want to see, then,” said the +girl. “You know Ed Flynn, don't you?”</p> + +<p>“A little,” replied Ellen. He had been a big boy when +she entered the high-school, and had left the next spring.</p> + +<p>“Well, he's the one you want,” said Nellie Stone. Then +she raised her voice to a shrill peal as a boy passed the office +door.</p> + +<p>“Here, you, Jack,” said she, “ask Mr. Flynn to +come here a minute, will you?”</p> + +<p>“He don't want to see you,” replied the boy, who was +small and spare, laden heavily with a great roll of wrapping paper +borne bayonet fashion over his shoulder. His round, impish face +grinned back at the girl at the desk.</p> + +<p>“Quit your impudence,” she returned, half laughing +herself. “I don't want to see him; it is this young lady here; +hurry up.”</p> + +<p>The boy gave a comprehensive glance at Ellen. “Guess he'll +come,” he called back.</p> + +<p>Flynn appeared soon. He was handsome, well shaven and shorn, and +he held himself smartly. He also dressed well in a business suit +which would not have disgraced the Lloyds. His face lit up with +astonishment and pleasure when he saw Ellen. He bowed and greeted her +in a rich voice. He was of Irish descent but American born. Both his +motions and his speech were adorned with flourishes of grace which +betrayed his race. He placed a chair for Ellen with a sweep which +would have been a credit to the stage. All his actions had a slight +exaggeration as of fresco painting, which seemed to fit them for a +stage rather than a room, and for an audience rather than chance +spectators.</p> + +<p>“No, thank you,” replied Ellen. Then she went straight +to the matter in hand. “I have called to see if I could get a +job here?” she said. She had been formulating her speech all +the way thither. Her first impulse was to ask for employment, but she +was sure as to the manner in which a girl would ordinarily couch such +a request. So she asked for a job.</p> + +<p>Flynn stared at her. “A job?” he repeated.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I want very much to get one,” replied Ellen. +“I thought there might be a vacancy.”</p> + +<p>“Why, I thought—” said the young man. He was +very much astonished, but his natural polish could rise above +astonishment. Instead of blurting out what was in his mind as to her +change of prospects, he reasoned with incredible swiftness that the +change must be a hard thing to this girl, and that she was to be +handled the more tenderly and delicately because she was such a +pretty girl. He became twice as polite as before. He moved the chair +nearer to her.</p> + +<p>“Please sit down,” he said. He handed to her the +wooden arm-chair as if it had been a throne. Nellie Stone bent +frowning over her day-book.</p> + +<p>“Now let me see,” said the young man, seriously, with +perfect deference of manner, only belied by the rollicking admiration +in his eyes. “You have never held a position in a factory +before, I think?”</p> + +<p>“No,” replied Ellen.</p> + +<p>“There is at present only one vacancy that I can think +of,” said Flynn, “and that does not pay very much, but +there is always a chance to rise for a smart hand. I am sure you will +be that,” he added, smiling at her.</p> + +<p>Ellen did not return the smile. “I shall be contented to +begin for a little, if there is a chance to rise,” she +said.</p> + +<p>“There's a chance to rise to eighteen dollars a week,” +said Flynn. He smiled again, but it was like smiling at seriousness +itself. Ellen's downright, searching eyes upon his face seemed almost +to forbid the fact of her own girlish identity.</p> + +<p>“What is the job you have for me?” said she.</p> + +<p>“Tying strings in shoes,” answered Flynn. “Easy +enough, only child's play, but you won't earn more than three dollars +a week to begin with.”</p> + +<p>“I shall be quite satisfied with that,” said Ellen. +“When shall I come?”</p> + +<p>“Why, to-morrow morning; no, to-morrow is Friday. Better +come next Monday and begin the week. That will give you one day more +off, and the hot wave a chance to get past.” Flynn spoke +facetiously. It was a very hot day, and the air in the office like a +furnace. He wiped his forehead, to which the dark rings of hair +clung. The girl at the desk glanced around adoringly at him.</p> + +<p>“I would rather not stop for that if you want me to begin at +once,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>Flynn looked abashed. “Oh, we'd rather have you begin on the +even week—it makes less bother over the account,” he +said. “Monday morning at seven sharp, then.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>Flynn walked off with an abrupt duck of his head. He somehow felt +that he had been rebuffed, and Ellen rose.</p> + +<p>“I told you you'd get one,” said the girl at the desk. +“Catch Ed Flynn not giving a pretty girl a job.” She +said it with an accent of pain as well as malice. Ellen looked at her +with large, indignant eyes. She had not the least idea what she +meant, at least she realized only the surface meaning, and that +angered her.</p> + +<p>“I suppose he gave me the job because there was a +vacancy,” she returned, with dignity.</p> + +<p>The other girl laughed. “Mebbe,” said she.</p> + +<p>Ellen continued to look at her, and there was something in her +look not only indignant, but appealing. Nellie Stone's expression +changed again. She laughed uneasily. “Land, I didn't mean +anything,” said she. “I'm glad for you that you got the +job. Of course you wouldn't have got it if there hadn't been a +chance. One of the girls got married last week, Maud Millet. I guess +it's her place you've got. I'm real glad you've got it.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Good-bye,” said the girl.</p> + +<p>“Good-bye,” replied Ellen.</p> + +<p>On Monday morning the heat had broken, and an east wind with the +breath of the sea in it was blowing. Ellen started for her work at +half-past six. She held her father's little, worn leather-bag, in +which he had carried his dinner for so many years. The walk was so +long that it would scarcely give her time to come home at noon, and +as for taking a car, that was not to be thought of for a moment on +account of the fare.</p> + +<p>Ellen walked along briskly, the east wind blew in her face, she +smelled the salt sea, and somehow it at once soothed and stimulated +her. Without seeing the mighty waste of waters, she seemed to realize +its presence; she gazed at the sky hanging low with a scud of gray +clouds, which did not look unlike the ocean, and the sense of +irresponsibility in the midst of infinity comforted her.</p> + +<p>“I am not Ellen Brewster after all,” she thought. +“I am not anything separate enough to be worried about what +comes to me. I am only a part of greatness which cannot fail of +reaching its end.” She thought this all vaguely. She had no +language for it, for she was very young; it was formless as music, +but as true to her.</p> + +<p>When she reached the cross-street where the Atkinses lived Abby +and Maria came running out.</p> + +<p>“My land, Ellen Brewster,” said Abby, half angrily, +“if you don't look real happy! I believe you are glad to go to +work in a shoe-shop!”</p> + +<p>Ellen laughed. Maria said nothing, but she pressed close to her as +she walked along. She was coughing a little in the east wind. There +had been a drop of twenty degrees in the night, and these drops of +temperature in New England mean steps to the tomb.</p> + +<p>“You make me mad,” said Abby. Her voice broke a +little. She dashed her hand across her eyes angrily. “Here's +Granville Joy,” said she; “you'll be in the same room +with him, Ellen.” She said it maliciously. Distress over her +friend made her fairly malicious.</p> + +<p>Ellen colored. “You are hard to talk to,” said she, in +a low voice, for Granville was coming nearer, gaining on them from +behind.</p> + +<p>“She don't mean it,” whispered Maria.</p> + +<p>When Granville caught up with them, Ellen pressed so close to +Maria that he was forced to walk with Abby or pass on. She returned +his “Good-morning,” then did not look at him again. +Presently Willy Jones appeared, coming so imperceptibly that he +seemed almost impossible.</p> + +<p>“Where did he come from?” whispered Ellen to +Maria.</p> + +<p>“Hush,” replied Maria; “it's this way 'most +every morning. All at once he comes, and he generally walks with me, +because he's afraid Abby won't want him, but it's Abby.”</p> + +<p>This morning, Willy Jones, aroused, perhaps, to self-assertion by +the presence of another man, walked three abreast with Abby and +Granville, but on the other side of Granville. Now and then he peered +around the other man at the girl, with soft, wistful blue eyes, but +Abby never seemed to see him. She talked fast, in a harsh, rather +loud voice. She uttered bitter witticisms which made her companions +laugh.</p> + +<p>“Abby is so bright,” whispered Maria to Ellen, +“but I wish she wouldn't talk so. Abby doesn't feel the way I +wish she did. She rebels. She would be happier if she gave up +rebelling and believed.” Maria coughed as she spoke.</p> + +<p>“You had better keep your mouth shut in this east wind, +Maria,” her sister called out sharply to her.</p> + +<p>“I'm not talking much, Abby,” replied Maria.</p> + +<p>Presently Maria looked at Ellen lovingly. “Do you feel very +badly about going to work?” she asked, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>“No, not now. I have made up my mind,” replied Ellen. +The east wind was bringing a splendid color to her cheeks. She held +up her head as she marched along, like one leading a charge of +battle. Her eyes gleamed as with blue fire, her yellow hair sprung +and curled around her temples.</p> + +<p>They were now in the midst of a great, hurrying procession bound +for the factories. Some of the men walked silently, with a dogged +stoop of shoulders and shambling hitch of hips; some of the women +moved droopingly, with an indescribable effect of hanging back from +the leading of some imperious hand of fate. Many of them, both men +and women, walked alertly and chattered like a flock of sparrows. +Ellen moved with this rank and file of the army of labor, and all at +once a sense of comradeship seized her. She began to feel humanity as +she had never felt it before. The sense of her own littleness aroused +her to a power of comprehension of the grandeur of the mass of which +she was a part. She began to lose herself and sense humanity.</p> + +<p>When the people reached the factories, two on one side of the +road, one, Lloyd's, on the other, they began streaming up the outside +stairs and disappearing like swarms of bees in hives. Two flights of +stairs, one on each side, led to a platform in front of the entrance +of Lloyd's.</p> + +<p>When Ellen set her foot on one of these stairs the seven-o'clock +steam-whistle blew, and a mighty thrill shot through the vast +building. Ellen caught her breath. Abby came close to her.</p> + +<p>“Don't get scared,” said she, with ungracious +tenderness; “there's nothing to be scared at.”</p> + +<p>Ellen laughed. “I'm not scared,” said she. Then they +entered the factory, humming with machinery, and a sensation which +she had not anticipated was over her. Scared she was not; she was +fairly exultant. All at once she entered a vast room in which eager +men were already at the machines with frantic zeal, as if they were +driving labor herself. When she felt the vibration of the floor under +her feet, when she saw people spring to their stations of toil, as if +springing to guns in a battle, she realized the might and grandeur of +it all. Suddenly it seemed to her that the greatest thing in the +whole world was work and that this was one of the greatest forms of +work—to cover the feet of progress of the travellers of the +earth from the cradle to the grave. She saw that these great +factories, and the strength of this army of the sons and daughters of +toil, made possible the advance of civilization itself, which cannot +go barefoot. She realized all at once and forever the dignity of +labor, this girl of the people, with a brain which enabled her to +overlook the heads of the rank and file of which she herself formed a +part. She never again, whatever her regret might have been for +another life for which she was better fitted, which her taste +preferred, had any sense of ignominy in this. She never again felt +that she was too good for her labor, for labor had revealed itself to +her like a goddess behind a sordid veil. Abby and Maria looked at her +wonderingly. No other girl had ever entered Lloyd's with such a look +on her face.</p> + +<p>“Are you sick?” whispered Abby, catching her arm.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Ellen. “No, don't worry me, Abby. I +think I shall like it.”</p> + +<p>“I declare you make me mad,” said Abby, but she looked +at her adoringly. “Here's Ed Flynn,” she added. +“He'll look out for you. Good-bye, I'll see you at noon.” + Abby went away to her machine. She was stitching vamps by the piece, +and earning a considerable amount. The Atkinses were not so +distressed as they had been, and Abby was paying off a mortgage.</p> + +<p>When the foreman came towards Ellen she experienced a shock. His +gay, admiring eyes on her face seemed to dispel all her exaltation. +She felt as if her feet touched earth, and yet the young man was +entirely respectful, and even thoughtful. He bade her +“Good-morning,” and conducted her to the scene of her +labor. One other girl was already there at work. She gave a sidewise +glance at Ellen, and went on, making her fingers fly. Mr. Flynn +showed Ellen what to do. She had to tie the shoes together with bits +of twine, laced through eyelet holes. Ellen took a piece of twine and +tied it in as Flynn watched her. He laughed pleasantly.</p> + +<p>“You'll do,” he said, approvingly. “I've been in +here five years, and you are the first girl I ever saw who tied a +square knot at the first trial. Here's Mamie Brady here, she worked a +solid month before she got the hang of the square knot.”</p> + +<p>“You go along,” admonished the girl spoken of as +“Mamie Brady.” Her words were flippant, even impudent, +but her tone was both dejected and childish. She continued to work +without a glance at either of them. Her fingers flew, tying the knots +with swift jerks.</p> + +<p>“Well, you help Miss Brewster, if she needs any help,” +said Flynn, as he went away.</p> + +<p>“We don't have any misses in this shop,” said the girl +to Ellen, with sarcastic emphasis.</p> + +<p>“I don't care anything about being called miss,” +replied Ellen, picking up another piece of string.</p> + +<p>“What's your first name?”</p> + +<p>“Ellen.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, land! I know who you be. You read that essay at the +high-school graduation. I was there. Well, I shouldn't think you +would want to be called miss if you feel the way you said you did in +that.”</p> + +<p>“I don't want to,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>The girl gave a swift, comprehensive glance at her as her fingers +manipulated the knots.</p> + +<p>“You won't earn twenty cents a week at the rate you're +workin',” she said; “look at me.”</p> + +<p>“I don't believe you worked any faster than I do when you +hadn't been here any longer,” retorted Ellen.</p> + +<p>“I did, too; you can't depend on a thing Ed Flynn says. +You're awful slow. He praises you because you are +good-lookin'.”</p> + +<p>Ellen turned and faced her. “Look here,” said she.</p> + +<p>The other girl looked at her with unspeakable impudence, and yet +under it was that shadow of dejection and that irresponsible +childishness.</p> + +<p>“Well, I am lookin',” said she, “what is +it?”</p> + +<p>“You need not speak to me again in that way,” said +Ellen, “and I want you to understand it. I will not have +it.”</p> + +<p>“My, ain't you awful smart,” said the other girl, +sneeringly, but she went on with her work without another word. +Presently she said to Ellen, kindly enough: “If you lay the +shoes the way I do, so, you can get them faster. You'll find it pays. +Every little saving of time counts when you are workin' by the +piece.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said Ellen, and did as she was +instructed. She began to work with exceeding swiftness for a +beginner. Her fingers were supple, her nervous energy great. Flynn +came and stood beside her, watching her.</p> + +<p>“If you work at that rate, you'll make it pretty +profitable,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>“And a square knot every time,” he added, with almost +a caressing inflection. Mamie Brady tied in the twine with compressed +lips. Granville Joy passed them, pushing a rack full of shoes to +another department, and he glanced at them jealously. Still he was +not seriously alarmed as to Flynn, who, although he was good-looking, +was a Catholic. Mrs. Zelotes seemed an effectual barrier to that.</p> + +<p>“Ed Flynn talks that way to everybody,” Mamie Brady +said to Ellen, after the foreman had passed on. She said it this time +quite inoffensively. Ellen laughed.</p> + +<p>“If I <em>do</em> tie the knots square, that is the main +thing,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Then you don't like him?”</p> + +<p>“I never spoke two words to him before the day I applied for +work,” Ellen replied, haughtily. She was beginning to feel that +perhaps the worst feature of her going to work in a factory would be +this girl.</p> + +<p>“I've known girls who would be willing to go down on their +knees and tie his shoes when they hadn't seen more of him than +that,” said the girl. “Ed Flynn is an awful +masher.”</p> + +<p>Ellen went on with her work. The girl, after a side glance at her, +went on with hers.</p> + +<p>Gradually Ellen's work began to seem mechanical. At first she had +felt as if she were tying all her problems of life in square knots. +She had to use all her brain upon it; after a while her brain had so +informed her fingers that they had learned their lesson well enough +to leave her free to think, if only the girl at her side would let +her alone. The girl had a certain harsh beauty, coarsely curling red +hair, a great mass of it, gathered in an untidy knot, and a brilliant +complexion. Her hands were large and red. Ellen's contrasted with +them looked like a baby's.</p> + +<p>“You 'ain't got hands for workin' in a shoe-shop,” +said Mamie Brady, presently, and it was impossible to tell from her +tone whether she envied or admired Ellen's hands, or was proud of the +superior strength of her own.</p> + +<p>“Well, they've got to work in a shoe-shop,” said +Ellen, with a short laugh.</p> + +<p>“You won't find it so easy to work with such little mites of +hands when it comes to some things,” said the girl.</p> + +<p>It began to be clear that she exulted in her large, coarse hands +as being fitted for her work.</p> + +<p>“Maybe mine will grow larger,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>“No, they won't. They'll grow all bony and knotty, but they +won't grow any bigger.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I shall have to get along with them the best way I +can,” replied Ellen, rather impatiently. This girl was +irritating to a degree, and yet there was all the time that vague +dejection about her, and withal a certain childishness, which seemed +to insist upon patience. The girl was really older than Ellen, but +she was curiously unformed. Some of the other girls said openly that +she was “lacking.”</p> + +<p>“You act stuck up. Are you stuck up?” asked Mamie +Brady, suddenly, after another pause.</p> + +<p>Ellen laughed in spite of herself. “No,” said she, +“I am not. I know of no reason that I have for being stuck +up.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don't know of any either,” said the other +girl, “but I didn't know. You sort of acted as if you felt +stuck up.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don't.”</p> + +<p>“You talk stuck up. Why don't you talk the way the rest of +us do? Why do you say ‘am not,’ and ‘ar'n't’; +why don't you say ‘ain't’?”</p> + +<p>The girl mimicked Ellen's voice impishly.</p> + +<p>Ellen colored. “I am going to talk the way I think best, the +way I have been taught is right, and if that makes you think I am +stuck up, I can't help it.”</p> + +<p>“My, don't get mad. I didn't mean anything,” said the +other girl.</p> + +<p>All the time while Ellen was working, and even while the +exultation and enthusiasm of her first charge in the battle of labor +was upon her, she had had, since her feminine instincts were, after +all, strong with her, a sense that Robert Lloyd was under the same +great factory roof, in the same human hive, that he might at any +moment pass through the room. That, however, she did not think very +likely. She fancied the Lloyds seldom went through the departments, +which were in charge of foremen. Mr. Norman Lloyd was at the +mountains with his wife, she knew. They left Robert in charge, and he +would have enough to do in the office. She looked at the grimy men +working around her, and she thought of the elegant young fellow, and +the utter incongruity of her being among them seemed so great as to +preclude the possibility of it. She had said to herself when she +thought of obtaining work in Lloyd's that she need not hesitate about +it on account of Robert. She had heard her father say that the elder +Lloyd almost never came in contact with the men, that everything was +done through the foremen. She reasoned that it would be the same with +the younger Lloyd. But all at once the girl at her side gave her a +violent nudge, which did not interrupt for a second her own flying +fingers.</p> + +<p>“Say,” she said, “ain't he handsome?”</p> + +<p>Ellen glanced over her shoulder and saw Robert Lloyd coming down +between the lines of workmen. Then she turned to her work, and her +fingers slipped and bungled, her ears rang. He passed without +speaking.</p> + +<p>Mamie Brady openly stared after him. “He's awful handsome, +and an awful swell, but he's awful stuck up, just like the old +boss,” said she. “He never notices any of us, and acts as +if he was afraid we'd poison him. My, what's the matter with +you?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>“You look white as a sheet; ain't you well?”</p> + +<p>Ellen turned upon her with sudden fury. She had something of the +blood of the violent Louds and of her hot-tempered grandmother. She +had stood everything from this petty, insistent tormentor.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am well,” she replied, “and I will thank +you to let me alone, and let me do my work, and do your +own.”</p> + +<p>The other girl stared at her a minute with curiously expressive, +uplifted eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“Whew!” she said, in a half whistle then, and went on +with her work, and did not speak again.</p> + +<p>Ellen was thankful that Robert Lloyd had not spoken to her in the +factory, and yet she was cut to the quick by it. It fulfilled her +anticipations to the letter. “I was right,” she said to +herself; “he can never think of me again. He is showing +it.” Somehow, after he had passed, her enthusiasm, born of a +strong imagination, and her breadth of nature failed her somewhat. +The individual began to press too closely upon the aggregate. +Suddenly Ellen Brewster and her own heartache and longing came to the +front. She had put herself out of his life as completely as if she +had gone to another planet. Still, feeling this, she realized no +degradation of herself as a cause of it. She realized that from his +point of view she had gone into a valley, but from hers she was +rather on an opposite height. She on the height of labor, of skilled +handiwork, which is the manifestation in action of brain-work, he on +the height of pure brain-work unpressed by physical action.</p> + +<p>At noon, when she was eating her dinner with Abby and Maria, Abby +turned to her and inquired if young Mr. Lloyd had spoken to her when +he came through the room.</p> + +<p>“No, he didn't,” replied Ellen.</p> + +<p>Abby said nothing, but she compressed her lips and gave her head a +hard jerk. A girl who ran a machine next to Abby's came up, munching +a large piece of pie, taking clean semicircular bites with her large, +white teeth.</p> + +<p>“Say,” she said, “did you see the young boss's +new suit? Got up fine, wasn't he?”</p> + +<p>“I'd like to see him working where I be for an hour,” +said a young fellow, strolling up, dipping into his dinner-bag. He +was black and greasy as to face and hands and clothing. “Guess +his light pants and vest would look rather different,” said he, +and everybody laughed except the Atkins girls and Ellen.</p> + +<p>“I guess he washed his hands, anyway, before he ate his +dinner,” said Abby, sharply, looking at the young man's hands +with meaning.</p> + +<p>The young fellow colored, though he laughed. “There ain't a +knife in this shop so sharp as some women's tongues,” said he. +“I pity the man that gets you.”</p> + +<p>“There won't be any man get me,” retorted Abby. +“I've seen all I want to see of men, working with 'em every +day.”</p> + +<p>“Mebbe they have of you,” called back the young +fellow, going away.</p> + +<p>“The saucy thing!” said the girl who stitched next to +Abby.</p> + +<p>“There isn't any excuse for a man's eating his dinner with +hands like that,” said Abby. “It's worse to poison +yourself with your own dirt than with other folks'. It hurts your own +self more.”</p> + +<p>“He ain't worth minding,” said the girl.</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose I do mind him?” returned Abby. Maria +looked at her meaningly. The young man, whose name was Edison +Bartlett, had once tried to court Abby, but neither she nor Maria had +ever told of it.</p> + +<p>“His clothes were a pearl gray,” said the girl at the +stitching-machine, reverting to the original subject.</p> + +<p>“Good gracious, who cares what color they were?” cried +Abby, impatiently.</p> + +<p>“He looked awful handsome in 'em,” said the girl. +“He's awful handsome.”</p> + +<p>“You'd better look at handsome fellows in your own set, +Sadie Peel,” said Abby, roughly.</p> + +<p>The girl, who was extremely pretty, carried herself well, and +dressed with cheap fastidiousness, colored.</p> + +<p>“I don't see what we have to think about sets for,” +said she. “I guess way back the Peels were as good as the +Lloyds. We're in a free country, where one is as good as another, +ain't we?”</p> + +<p>“No one is as good as another, except in the sight of the +Lord, in any country on the face of this earth,” said Abby.</p> + +<p>“If you are as good in your own sight, I don't see that it +makes much difference about the sight of other human beings,” +said Ellen. “I guess that's what makes a republic, +anyway.”</p> + +<p>Sadie Peel gave a long, bewildered look at her, then she turned to +Abby.</p> + +<p>“Do you know where I can get somebody to do +accordion-plaiting for me?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Abby. “I never expect to get to the +height of accordion-plaiting.”</p> + +<p>“I know where you can,” said another girl, coming up. +She had light hair, falling in a harsh, uncurled bristle over her +forehead; her black gown was smeared with paste, and even her face +and hands were sticky with it.</p> + +<p>“There's a great splash of paste on your nose, Hattie +Wright,” said Abby.</p> + +<p>The girl took out a crumpled handkerchief and began rubbing her +nose absently while she went on talking about the +accordion-plaiting.</p> + +<p>“There's a woman on Joy Street does it,” said she. +“She lives just opposite the school-house, and she does it +awful cheap, only three cents a yard.” She thrust the +handkerchief into her pocket.</p> + +<p>“You haven't got it half off,” said Abby.</p> + +<p>“Let it stay there, then,” said the girl, +indifferently. “If you work pasting linings in a shoe-shop +you've got to get pasted yourself.”</p> + +<p>Ellen looked at the girl with a curious reflection that she spoke +the truth, that she really was pasted herself, that the soil and the +grind of her labor were wearing on her soul. She had seen this girl +out of the shop—in fact, only the day before—and no one +would have known her for the same person. When her light hair was +curled, and she was prettily dressed, she was quite a beauty. In the +shop she was a slattern, and seemed to go down under the wheels of +her toil.</p> + +<p>“On Joy Street, you said?” said Sadie Peel.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Right opposite the school-house. Her name is +Brackett.”</p> + +<p>Then the one-o'clock whistle blew, and everybody, Ellen with the +rest, went back to their stations. Robert Lloyd did not come into the +room again that afternoon. Ellen worked on steadily, and gained +swiftness. Every now and then the foreman came and spoke +encouragingly to her.</p> + +<p>“Look out, Mamie,” he said to the girl at her side, +“or she'll get ahead of you.”</p> + +<p>“I don't want to get ahead of her,” said Ellen, +unexpectedly.</p> + +<p>Flynn laughed. “If you don't, you ain't much like the other +girls in this shop,” said he, passing on with his urbane, +slightly important swing of shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Did you mean that?” asked Mamie Brady.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I did. It seems to me you work fast enough for any +girl. A girl isn't a machine.”</p> + +<p>“You're a queer thing,” said Mamie Brady. “If I +were you, I would just as soon get ahead as not, especially if Ed +Flynn was goin' to come and praise me for it.”</p> + +<p>Ellen shrugged her shoulders and tied another knot.</p> + +<p>“You're a queer thing,” said Mamie Brady, while her +fingers flew like live wires.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XXXVI</h3> + +<p>That night, when Ellen went down the street towards home with the +stream of factory operatives, she computed that she must have earned +about fifty cents, perhaps not quite that. She was horribly tired. +Although the work in itself was not laborious, she had been all day +under a severe nervous tension.</p> + +<p>“You look tired to death, Ellen Brewster,” Abby said, +in a half-resentful, half-compassionate tone. “You can never +stand this in the world.”</p> + +<p>“I am no more tired than any one would be the first +day,” Ellen returned, stoutly, “and I'm going to stand +it.”</p> + +<p>“You act to me as if you liked it,” said Abby, with an +angry switch like a cat.</p> + +<p>“I do,” Ellen returned, almost as angrily. Then she +turned to Abby. “Look here, Abby Atkins, why can't you treat me +half-way decent?” said she. “You know I've got to do it, +and I'm making the best of it. If anybody else treated me the way you +are doing, I don't know what you would do.”</p> + +<p>“I would kill them,” said Abby, fiercely; “but +it's different with me. I'm mad to have you go to work in the shop, +and act as if you liked it, because I think so much of you.” +Abby and Ellen were walking side by side, and Maria followed with +Sadie Peel.</p> + +<p>“Well, I can't help it if you are mad at me,” said +Ellen. “I've had everything to contend against, my father and +mother, and my grandmother won't even speak to me, and now if +you—” Ellen's voice broke.</p> + +<p>Abby caught her arm in a hard grip.</p> + +<p>“I ain't,” said she; “you can depend on me. You +know you can, in spite of everything. You know why I talk so. If +you've set your heart on doing it, I won't say another word. I'll do +all I can to help you, and I'd like to hear anybody say a word +against you for going to work in the shop, that's all.”</p> + +<p>Ellen and Abby almost never kissed each other; Abby was not given +to endearments of that kind. Maria was more profuse with her +caresses. That night when they reached the corner of the cross street +where the Atkinses lived, Maria went close to Ellen and put up her +face.</p> + +<p>“Good-night,” said she. Then she withdrew her lips +suddenly, before Ellen could touch them.</p> + +<p>“I forgot,” said she. “You mustn't kiss me. I +forgot my cough. They say it's catching.”</p> + +<p>Ellen caught hold of her little, thin shoulders, held her firmly, +and kissed her full on her lips.</p> + +<p>“Good-night,” said she.</p> + +<p>“Good-night, Ellen,” called Abby, and her sharp voice +rang as sweet as a bird's.</p> + +<p>When Ellen came in sight of her grandmother's house, she saw a +window-shade go down with a jerk, and knew that Mrs. Zelotes had been +watching for her, and was determined not to let her know it. Mrs. +Pointdexter came out of her grand house as Ellen passed, and took up +her station on the corner to wait for a car. She bowed to Ellen with +an evasive, little, sidewise bow. Her natural amiability prompted her +to shake hands with her, call her “my dear,” and inquire +how she had got on during her first day in the factory, but she was +afraid of her friend, whose eye she felt upon her around the edge of +the drawn curtain.</p> + +<p>It was unusually dark that night for early fall, and the rain came +down in a steady drizzle, as it had come all day, and the wind blew +from the ocean on the east. The lamp was lighted in the kitchen when +Ellen turned into her own door-yard, and home had never looked so +pleasant and desirable to her. For the first time in her life she +knew what it was to come home for rest and shelter after a day of +toil, and she seemed to sense the full meaning of home as a refuge +for weary labor.</p> + +<p>When she opened the door, she smelled at once a particular kind of +stew of which she was very fond, and knew that her mother had been +making it for her supper. There was a rush of warm air from the +kitchen which felt grateful after the damp chill outside.</p> + +<p>Ellen went into the kitchen, and her mother stood there over the +stove, stirring the stew. She looked up at the girl with an +expression of intense motherliness which was beyond a smile.</p> + +<p>“Well, so you've got home?” she said.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“How did you get along?”</p> + +<p>“All right. It isn't hard work. Not a bit hard, +mother.”</p> + +<p>“Ain't you tired?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, a little. But no more than anybody would be at first. I +don't look very tired, do I?” Ellen laughed.</p> + +<p>“No, you don't,” said Fanny, looking at her cheeks, +reddened with the damp wind. The mother's look was admiring and +piteous and brave. No one knew how the woman had suffered that day, +but she had kept her head and heart above it. The stew for Ellen's +supper was a proof of that.</p> + +<p>“Where's father?” asked Ellen, taking off her hat and +cape, and going to the sink to wash her face and hands. Fanny saw her +do that with a qualm. Ellen had always used a dainty little set in +her own room. Now she was doing exactly as her father had always done +on his return from the shop—washing off the stains of leather +at the kitchen sink. She felt instinctively that Ellen did it +purposely, that she was striving to bring herself into accord with +her new life in all the details.</p> + +<p>Little Amabel came running out of the dining-room, and threw her +arms around Ellen's knees as she was bending over the sink. +“I've set the table!” she cried.</p> + +<p>“Look out or you'll get all splashed,” laughed +Ellen.</p> + +<p>“And I dusted,” said Amabel.</p> + +<p>“She's been as good as a kitten all day, and a sight of +help,” said Fanny.</p> + +<p>“She's a good girl,” said Ellen. “Cousin Ellen +will kiss her as soon as she gets her face washed.”</p> + +<p>She caught hold of a fold of the roller towel, and turned her +beautiful, dripping face to her mother as she did so.</p> + +<p>“That stew does smell so good,” said she. “Where +did you say father was?”</p> + +<p>“I thought we'd just have some bread and milk for dinner, +and somethin' hearty to-night, when you came home,” said Fanny. +“I thought maybe a stew would taste good.”</p> + +<p>“I guess it will,” said Ellen, stooping down to kiss +Amabel. “Where did you say father was?”</p> + +<p>“Uncle Andrew has been lyin' down all day most,” +whispered Amabel.</p> + +<p>“Isn't he well?” Ellen asked her mother, in quick +alarm.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, he's well enough.” Fanny moved close to the +girl with a motion of secrecy. “If I were you I wouldn't say +one word about the shop, nor what you did, before father to-night; +let him kind of get used to it. Amabel mustn't talk about it, +either.”</p> + +<p>“I won't,” said Amabel, with a wise air.</p> + +<p>“You know father had set his heart on somethin' pretty +different for you,” said Fanny.</p> + +<p>Fanny hushed her voice as Andrew came out of the dining-room, +staggering a little as if the light blinded him. His nervous strength +of the morning had passed and left him exhausted. He moved and stood +with a downward lope of every muscle, expressing unutterable +patience, which had passed beyond rebellion and questioning.</p> + +<p>He stood before Ellen like some old, spent horse. He was expecting +to hear something about the shop—expecting, as it were, a touch +on a sore, and he waited for it meekly.</p> + +<p>Ellen turned her lovely, glowing face towards him.</p> + +<p>“Father,” she said, as if nothing out of the common +had happened, “are you going down-town to-night?”</p> + +<p>Andrew brightened a little. “I can if you want anything, +Ellen,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Well, I don't want you to go on purpose, but I do want a +book from the library.”</p> + +<p>“I'd just as soon go as not, Ellen,” said Andrew.</p> + +<p>“It'll do him good,” whispered Fanny, as she passed +Ellen, carrying the dish of stew to the dining-room.</p> + +<p>“Well, then, I'll give you my card after supper,” said +Ellen. “Supper is ready now, isn't it, mother? I'm as hungry as +a bear.”</p> + +<p>Andrew, when he was seated at the table and was ladling out the +stew, had still that air of hopeless and defenceless apology towards +life, but he held his head higher, and his frown of patient gloom had +relaxed.</p> + +<p>Then Ellen said something else. “Maybe I can write a book +some time,” said she.</p> + +<p>A sudden flash illumined Andrew's face. It was like the visible +awakening of hope and ambition.</p> + +<p>“I don't see why you can't,” he said, eagerly.</p> + +<p>“Maybe she can,” said Fanny. “Give her some more +of the potatoes, Andrew.”</p> + +<p>“I'll have plenty of time after—evenings,” said +Ellen.</p> + +<p>“I guess lots of folks write books that sell, and sell well, +that don't have any more talent than you,” said Andrew. +“Only think how they praised your valedictory.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it can't do any harm to try,” said Ellen, +“and you could copy it for me, couldn't you, father? Your +writing is so fine, it would be as good as a typewriter.”</p> + +<p>“Of course I can,” said Andrew.</p> + +<p>When Andrew went down to the library, passing along the drenched +streets, seeing the lamps through shifting veils of heavy mist, he +was as full of enthusiasm over Ellen's book as he had been over the +gold-mine. The heart of a man is always ready to admit a ray of +sunshine, and it takes only a small one to dispel the shadows when +love dwells therein.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XXXVII</h3> + +<p>Ellen actually went to work, with sheets of foolscap and a new +bottle of ink, on a novel, which was not worth the writing; but no +one could estimate the comfort and encouragement it was to Andrew. +Ellen worked an hour or two every evening on the novel, and next day +Andrew copied it in a hand like copperplate—large, with ornate +flourishes. Andrew's handwriting had always been greatly admired, +and, strangely enough, it was not in the least indicative of his +character, being wholly acquired. He had probably some ability for +drawing, but this had been his only outlet.</p> + +<p>At the head of every chapter of Ellen's novel were birds and +flowers done in colored inks, and every chapter had a tail-piece of +elegant quirls and flourishes. Fanny admired it intensely. She was +not quite so sure of Ellen's work as she was of her husband's. She +felt herself a judge of one, but not of the other.</p> + +<p>“If Ellen could only write as well as you copy, it will +do,” she often said to Andrew.</p> + +<p>“What she is writing is beautiful,” said Andrew, +fervently. He was quite sure in his own mind that such a book had +never been written, and his pride in his decorations was a minor +one.</p> + +<p>Ellen, although she was not versed in the ways of books, yet had +enough of a sense of the fitness of things, and of the ridiculous, to +know that the manuscript, with its impossible pen-and-ink birds and +flowers heading and finishing every chapter, was grotesque in the +extreme. She felt divided between a desire to laugh and a desire to +cry whenever she looked at it. About her own work she felt more than +doubtful; still, she was somewhat hopeful, since her taste and +judgment, as well as her style, were alike crude. She told Abby and +Maria what she was doing, under promise of strict secrecy, and after +a while read them a few chapters.</p> + +<p>“It's beautiful,” said Maria—“perfectly +beautiful. I had a Sunday-school book this week which I know wasn't +half as good.”</p> + +<p>Ellen looked at Abby, who was silent. The three girls were up in +Ellen's room. It was midwinter, some months after she had gone to +work in the shop, and she had a fire in her little, air-tight +stove.</p> + +<p>“Well, what do you think of it, Abby?” asked Ellen. +Ellen's cheeks were flushed as if with fever. She looked eagerly at +the other girl.</p> + +<p>“Do you want me to tell you the truth?” asked Abby, +bluntly.</p> + +<p>“Yes, of course I do.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, I don't know a thing about books, and I'd knock +anybody else down that said it, but it seems to me it's +trash.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Abby,” murmured Maria.</p> + +<p>“Never mind,” said Ellen, though she quivered a +little, “I want to know just how it looks to her.”</p> + +<p>“It looks to me just like that,” said +Abby—“like trash. It sounds as if, when you began to +write it, you had mounted upon stilts, and didn't see things and +people the way they really were. It ain't natural.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think I had better give it up, then?” asked +Ellen.</p> + +<p>“No, I don't, on account of your father.”</p> + +<p>“I believe it would about break father's heart,” said +Ellen.</p> + +<p>“I don't know but it's worth as much to write a book for +your father, to please him, and keep his spirits up, as it is to +write one for the whole world,” said Abby.</p> + +<p>“Only, of course, she can't get any money for it,” +said Maria. “But I don't believe Abby is right, and don't you +get discouraged, Ellen. It sounds beautiful to me.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I suppose it is worth keeping on with for father's +sake,” said Ellen; but she had a discouraged air. She never +again wrote with any hope or heart; she had faith in Abby's opinion, +for she knew that she was always predisposed to admiration in her +case.</p> + +<p>Ellen at that time was earning more, for she had advanced, and had +long ago left her station beside Mamie Brady; and now in a month or +two she would have a machine. The girls, many of them, said openly +that her rapid promotion was due to favoritism, and that Ed Flynn +wouldn't do as much for anybody but Ellen Brewster. Flynn hung about +her in the shop a good deal, but he had made no efforts to pay her +decided attention. His religion was the prime factor for his +hesitation. He could not see his way clear towards open addresses +with a view to marriage. Still, he had a sharp eye for other +admirers, and Ellen had not been in the factory two months before +Granville Joy was sent into another room. Robert Lloyd, to whom the +foreman appealed for confirmation of the plan, coincided with +readiness.</p> + +<p>“That fellow ain't strong enough to run that machine he's +doing now,” said Flynn.</p> + +<p>“Then put him on another,” Robert said, coloring. It +was not quite like setting his rival in the front of the battle; +still, he felt ashamed of himself. Quicker than lightning it had +flashed through his mind that young Joy could thus be sent into a +separate room from Ellen Brewster.</p> + +<p>“I think he had better take one of the heel-shaving machines +below,” said Flynn, “and let that big Swede, that's as +strong as an ox, and never jumped at anything in his life, take his +place here.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Lloyd, assuming a nonchalant air. +“Make the change if you think it advisable, Flynn.”</p> + +<p>While such benevolence towards a possible rival had its suspicious +points, yet there was, after all, some reason for it. Granville Joy, +who was delicately organized as to his nerves, was running a machine +for cutting linings, and this came down with sharp thuds which shook +the factory, and it was fairly torture to him. Every time the knife +fell he cringed as if at a cannon report. He had never grown +accustomed to it. His face had acquired a fixed expression of being +screwed to meet a shock of sound. He was manifestly unfit for his +job, but he received the order to leave with dismay.</p> + +<p>“Hasn't my work been satisfactory?” he asked +Flynn.</p> + +<p>“Satisfactory enough,” replied the foreman, genially, +“but it's too hard for you, man.”</p> + +<p>“I 'ain't complained,” said Joy, with a flash of his +eyes. He thought he knew why this solicitude was shown him.</p> + +<p>“I know you 'ain't,” said Flynn, “but you 'ain't +got the muscle and nerve for it. That's plain enough to +see.”</p> + +<p>“I 'ain't complained, and I'd rather stay where I be,” +said Joy, angrily.</p> + +<p>“You'll go where you are sent in this factory, or be +damned,” cried Flynn, walking off.</p> + +<p>Joy looked after him with an expression which transformed his +face. But the next morning the stolid Swede, who would not have +started at a bomb, was at his place, and he was below, where he could +not see Ellen.</p> + +<p>Robert never spoke to Ellen in the factory, and had never called +upon her since she entered. Now and then he met her on the street and +raised his hat, that was all. Still, he began to wonder more and more +if his aunt had not been mistaken in her view of the girl's motive +for giving up college and going to work. Then, later on, he learned +from Lyman Risley that a small mortgage had been put on the Brewster +house some time before. In fact, Andrew, not knowing to whom to go, +and remembering his kindness when Ellen was a child, had applied to +him for advice concerning it. “He had to do it to keep his +wife's sister in the asylum,” he told Robert; “and that +poor girl went to work because she was forced into it, not because +she preferred it, you may be sure of that.”</p> + +<p>The two men were walking down the street one wind-swept day in +December, when the pavement showed ridges of dust as from a mighty +broom, and travellers walked bending before it with backward-flying +garments.</p> + +<p>“You may be right,” said Robert; “still, as Aunt +Cynthia says, so many girls have that idea of earning money instead +of going to school.”</p> + +<p>“I know the pitiful need of money has tainted many poor +girls with a monstrous and morbid overvalue of it,” said +Risley, “and for that I cannot see they are to blame; but in +this case I am sure it was not so. That poor child gave up Vassar +College and went to work because she was fairly forced into it by +circumstances. The aunt's husband ran away with another woman, and +left her destitute, so that the support of her and her child came +upon the Brewsters; and Brewster has been out of work a long time +now, I know. He told me so. That mortgage had to be raised, and the +girl had to go to work; there was no other way out of it.”</p> + +<p>“Why didn't she tell Aunt Cynthia so?” asked +Robert.</p> + +<p>“Because she is Ellen Brewster, the outgrowth of the child +who would not—” Risley checked himself abruptly.</p> + +<p>“I know,” said Robert, shortly.</p> + +<p>The other man started. “How long have you known—she +did not tell?”</p> + +<p>Robert laughed a little. “Oh no,” he replied. +“Nobody told. I went there to call, and saw my own old doll +sitting in a little chair in a corner of the parlor. She did not +tell, but she knew that I knew. That child was a trump.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what can you expect of a girl who was a child like +that?” said Risley. “Mind you, in a way I don't like it. +This power for secretiveness and this rigidity of pride in a girl of +that age strike me rather unpleasantly. Of course she was too proud +to tell Cynthia the true reason, and very likely thought they would +blame her father, or Cynthia might feel that she was in a measure +hinting to her to do more.”</p> + +<p>“It would have looked like that,” said Robert, +reflecting.</p> + +<p>“Without any doubt that was what she thought; still, I don't +like this strength in so young a girl. She will make a more +harmonious woman than girl, for she has not yet grown up to her own +character. But depend upon it, that girl never went to work of her +own free choice.”</p> + +<p>“You say the father is out of work?” Robert said.</p> + +<p>“Yes, he has not had work for six months. He said, with the +most dejected dignity and appeal that I ever saw in my life, that +they begin to think him too old, that the younger men are +preferred.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder,” Robert began, then he stopped confusedly. +It had been on his tongue to say that he wondered if he could not get +some employment for him at Lloyd's; then he remembered his uncle, and +stopped. Robert had begun to understand the older man's methods, and +also to understand that they were not to be cavilled at or disputed, +even by a nephew for whom he had undoubtedly considerable +affection.</p> + +<p>“It is nonsense, of course,” said Risley. “The +man is not by any means old or past his usefulness, although I must +admit he has that look. He cannot be any older than your uncle. +Speaking of your uncle, how is Mrs. Lloyd?”</p> + +<p>“I fear Aunt Lizzie is very far from well,” replied +Robert, “but she tries to keep it from Uncle Norman.”</p> + +<p>“I don't see how she can. She looked ghastly when I met her +the other day.”</p> + +<p>“That was when Uncle Norman was in New York,” said +Robert. “It is different when he is at home.” As he +spoke, an expression of intensest pity came over the young man's +face. “I wonder what a woman who loves her husband will not do +to shield him from any annoyance or suffering,” he said.</p> + +<p>“I believe some women are born fixed to a sort of spiritual +rack for the sake of love, and remain there through life,” said +Risley. “But I have always liked Mrs. Lloyd. She ought to have +good advice. What is it, has she told you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Robert.</p> + +<p>“It will be quite safe with me.”</p> + +<p>Robert whispered one word in his ear.</p> + +<p>“My God!” said Risley, “that? And do you mean to +say that she has had no advice except Dr. Story?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I took her to New York to a specialist some time ago. +Uncle Norman never knew it.”</p> + +<p>“And nothing can be done?”</p> + +<p>“She could have an operation, but the success would be very +doubtful.”</p> + +<p>“And that she will not consent to?”</p> + +<p>“She has not yet.”</p> + +<p>“How long?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, she may live for years, but she suffers horribly, and +she will suffer more.”</p> + +<p>“And you say he does not know?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Why, look here, Robert, dare you assume the responsibility? +What will he say when he finds out that you have kept it from +him?”</p> + +<p>“I don't care,” said Robert. “I will not break +an oath exacted by a woman in such straits as that, and I don't see +what good it could do to tell him.”</p> + +<p>“He might persuade her to have the operation.”</p> + +<p>“His mere existence is persuasion enough, if she is to be +persuaded. And I hope she may consent before long. She has seemed a +little more comfortable lately, too.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose sometimes those hideous things go away as +mysteriously as they come,” said Risley.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied Robert. “Going back to our first +subject—”</p> + +<p>Risley laughed. “Here she is coming,” he said.</p> + +<p>In fact, at that moment they came abreast the street that led to +the factories, and the six-o'clock whistle was just dying away in a +long reverberation, and the workmen pouring out of the doors and down +the stairs. Ellen had moved quickly, for she had an errand at the +grocery-store before she went home. She was going to get some oysters +for a hot stew for supper, of which her father was very fond. She had +a little oyster-can in her hand when she met the two gentlemen. She +had grown undeniably thinner since summer, but she was charming. Her +short black skirt and her coarse gray jacket fitted her as well as if +they had been tailor-made. There was nothing tawdry or slatternly +about her. She looked every inch a lady, even with the drawback of an +oyster-can, and mittens instead of gloves.</p> + +<p>Both Risley and Robert raised their hats, and Ellen bowed. She did +not smile, but her face contracted curiously, and her color obviously +paled. Risley looked at Robert after they had passed.</p> + +<p>“I have called on her twice,” said Robert, as if +answering a question. His relations with the older man had become +very close, almost like those of father and son, though Risley was +hardly old enough for that relation.</p> + +<p>“And you haven't been since she went to work?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“But you would have, had she gone to college instead of +going to work in a shoe-factory?” Risley's voice had a tone of +the gentlest conceivable sarcasm.</p> + +<p>Robert colored. “Yes, I suppose so,” he said. Then he +turned to Risley with a burst of utter frankness. “Hang it! old +fellow,” he said, “you know how I have been brought up; +you know how she—you know all about it. What is a fellow to +do?”</p> + +<p>“Do what he pleases. If it would please me to call on that +splendid young thing, I should call if I were the Czar of all the +Russias.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I will call,” said Robert.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XXXVIII</h3> + +<p>The very next evening Robert Lloyd went to call on Ellen. As he +started out he was conscious of a strange sensation of shock, as if +his feet had suddenly touched firm ground. All these months since +Ellen had been working in the factory he had been vacillating. He was +undoubtedly in love with her; he did not for a moment cheat himself +as to that. When he caught a glimpse of her fair head among the other +girls, he realized how unspeakably dear she was to him. Ellen never +entered nor left the factory that he did not know it. Without +actually seeing her, he was conscious of her presence always. He +acknowledged to himself that there was no one like her for him, and +never would be. He tried to interest himself in other young women, +but always there was Ellen, like the constant refrain of a song. All +other women meant to him not themselves, but Ellen. Womanhood itself +was Ellen for his manhood. He knew it, and yet that strain of utterly +impassionate judgment and worldly wisdom which was born in him kept +him from making any advances to her. Now, however, the radicalism of +Risley had acted like a spur to his own inclination. His judgment was +in abeyance. He said to himself that he would give it up; he would go +to see the girl—that he would win her if he could. He said to +himself that she had been wronged, that Risley was right about her, +that she was good and noble.</p> + +<p>As the car drew near the Brewsters, his tenderness seemed to +outspeed the electricity. The girl's fair face was plain before his +eyes, as if she were actually there, and it was idealized and haloed +as with the light of gold and precious stones. All at once, since he +had given himself loose rein, he overtook, as it were, the true +meaning of her. “The dear child,” he thought, with a rush +of tenderness like pain—“the dear child. There she gave +up everything and went to work, and let us blame her, rather than +have her father blamed. The dear, proud child. She did that rather +than seem to beg for more help.”</p> + +<p>When Robert got off the car he was ready to fall at her feet, to +push between her and the roughness of life, between her and the whole +world.</p> + +<p>He went up the little walk between the dry shrubs and rang the +bell. There was no light in the front windows nor in the hall. +Presently he heard footsteps, and saw a glimmer of light advancing +towards him through the length of the hall. There were +muslin-curtained side-lights to the door. Then the door opened, and +little Amabel Tenny stood there holding a small kerosene lamp +carefully in both hands. She held it in such a manner that the light +streamed up in Robert's face and nearly blinded him. He was dimly +conscious of a little face full of a certain chary innocence and +pathos regarding him.</p> + +<p>“Is Miss Ellen Brewster at home?” asked Robert, +smiling down at the little thing.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” replied Amabel.</p> + +<p>Then she remained perfectly still, holding the lamp, as if she had +been some little sculptured light-bearer. She did not return his +smile, and she did not ask him in. She simply regarded him with her +sharp, innocent, illuminated face. Robert felt ridiculously +nonplussed.</p> + +<p>“Did you say she was in, my dear?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” replied Amabel, then relapsed into +silence.</p> + +<p>“Can I see her?” asked Robert, desperately.</p> + +<p>“I don't know,” replied Amabel. Then she stood still, +as before, holding the lamp.</p> + +<p>Robert began to wonder what he was to do, when he heard a woman's +voice calling from the sitting-room at the end of the hall, the door +of which had been left ajar:</p> + +<p>“Amabel Tenny, what are you doin'? You are coldin' the house +all off! Who is it?”</p> + +<p>“It's a man, Aunt Fanny,” called Amabel.</p> + +<p>“Who is the man?” asked the voice. Then, much to +Robert's relief, Fanny herself appeared.</p> + +<p>She colored a flaming red when she saw him. She looked at Amabel +as if she had an impulse to shake her.</p> + +<p>“Why, Mr. Lloyd, is it you?” she cried.</p> + +<p>“Good-evening, Mrs. Brewster; is—is your daughter at +home?” asked Robert. He felt inclined to roar with laughter, +and yet a curious dismay was beginning to take possession of him.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Ellen is at home,” replied Fanny, with alacrity. +“Walk in, Mr. Lloyd.” She was blushing and smiling as if +she had been her own daughter. It was foolish, yet pathetic. Although +Fanny asked the young man to walk in, and snatched the lamp +peremptorily from Amabel's hand, she still hesitated. Robert began to +wonder if he should ever be admitted. He did not dream of the true +reason for the hesitation. There was no fire in the parlor, and in +the sitting-room were Andrew, John Sargent, and Mrs. Wetherhed. It +seemed to her highly important that Ellen should see her caller by +herself, but how to take him into that cold parlor?</p> + +<p>Finally, however, she made up her mind to do so. She opened the +parlor door.</p> + +<p>“Please walk in this way, Mr. Lloyd,” said she, and +Robert followed her in.</p> + +<p>It was a bitter night outside, and the temperature in the unused +room was freezing. The windows behind the cheap curtains were thickly +furred with frost.</p> + +<p>“Please be seated,” said Fanny.</p> + +<p>She indicated the large easy-chair, and Robert seated himself +without removing his outer coat, yet the icy cold of the cushions +struck through him.</p> + +<p>Fanny ignited a match to light the best lamp with its painted +globe. Her fingers trembled. She had to use three matches before she +was successful.</p> + +<p>“Can't I assist you?” asked Robert.</p> + +<p>“No, thank you,” replied Fanny; “I guess the +matches are damp. I've got it now.” Her voice shook. She +turned to Robert when the lamp was lighted, still holding the small +one, which she had set for the moment on the table. The strong double +light revealed her face of abashed delight, although the young man +did not understand it. It was the solicitude of the mother for the +child which dignified all coarseness and folly.</p> + +<p>“I guess you had better keep on your overcoat a little while +till I get the fire built,” said she. “This room ain't +very warm.”</p> + +<p>Robert tried to say something polite about not feeling cold, but +the lie was too obvious. Instead, he remarked that his coat was very +warm, as it was, indeed, being lined with fur.</p> + +<p>“I'll have the fire kindled in a minute,” Fanny +said.</p> + +<p>“Now don't trouble yourself, Mrs. Brewster,” said +Robert. “I am quite warm in this coat, unless,” he added, +lamely, “I could go out where you were sitting.”</p> + +<p>“There's company out there,” said Fanny, with +embarrassed significance. She blushed as she spoke, and Robert +blushed also, without knowing why.</p> + +<p>“It's no trouble at all to start a fire,” said Fanny; +“this chimney draws fine. I'll speak to Ellen.”</p> + +<p>Robert, left alone in the freezing room, felt his dismay deepen. +Barriers of tragedy are nothing to those of comedy. He began to +wonder if he were not, after all, doing a foolish thing. The hall +door had been left ajar, and he presently became aware of Amabel's +little face and luminous eyes set therein.</p> + +<p>Robert smiled, and to his intense astonishment the child made a +little run to him and snuggled close to his side. He lifted her up on +his knee, and wrapped his fur coat around her. Amabel thrust out one +tiny hand and began to stroke the sable collar.</p> + +<p>“It's fur,” said she, with a bright, wise look into +Robert's face.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it's fur,” said he. “Do you know what +kind?”</p> + +<p>She shook her head, with bright eyes still on his.</p> + +<p>“It is sable,” said Robert, “and it is the coat +of a little animal that lives very far north, where it is as cold and +colder than this all the time, and the ice and snow never +melts.”</p> + +<p>Suddenly Amabel slipped off his knee, pushing aside his caressing +arm with a violent motion. Then she stood aloof, eying him with +unmistakable reproof and hostility. Robert laughed.</p> + +<p>“What is the matter?” he said.</p> + +<p>“What does he do without his coat if it is as cold as that +where he lives?” asked Amabel, severely. There was almost an +accent of horror in her childish voice.</p> + +<p>“Why, my dear child,” said Robert, “the little +animal is dead. He isn't running around without his coat. He was shot +for his fur.”</p> + +<p>“To make you a coat?” Amabel's voice was full of +judicial severity.</p> + +<p>“Well, in one way,” replied Robert, laughing. +“It was shot to get the fur to make somebody a coat, and I +bought it. Come back here and have it wrapped round you; you'll +freeze if you don't.”</p> + +<p>Amabel came back and sat on his knee, and let him wrap the +fur-lined garment around her. A strange sensation of tenderness and +protection came over the young man as he felt the little, slender +body of the child nestle against his own. He had begun to surmise who +she was. However, Amabel herself told him in a moment.</p> + +<p>“My mamma's sick, and they took her to an asylum. And my +papa has gone away,” she said.</p> + +<p>“You poor little soul,” said Robert, tenderly. Amabel +continued to look at him with eyes of keenest intelligence, while one +little cheek was flattened against his breast.</p> + +<p>“I live with Uncle Andrew and Aunt Fanny now,” said +she, “and I sleep with Ellen.”</p> + +<p>“But you like living here, don't you, you dear?” asked +Robert.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Amabel, “and I like to stay with +Ellen, but—but—I want to see my mamma and papa,” +she wailed, suddenly, in the lowest and most pitiful wail +imaginable.</p> + +<p>“Poor little darling,” said Robert, stroking her +flaxen hair. Amabel looked up at him with her little face all +distorted with grief.</p> + +<p>“If you had been my papa, would you have gone away and left +Amabel?” she asked, quiveringly. Robert gathered her to him in +a strong clasp of protection.</p> + +<p>“No, you little darling, I never should,” he cried, +fervently.</p> + +<p>At that moment he wished devoutly that he had the handling of the +man who had deserted this child.</p> + +<p>“I like you most as well as my own papa,” said Amabel. +“You ain't so big as my papa.” She said that in a tone +of evident disparagement.</p> + +<p>Then the sitting-room door opened, and Fanny and Ellen and Andrew +appeared, the last with a great basket of wood and kindlings.</p> + +<p>Robert set down Amabel, and sprang to his feet to greet Andrew and +Ellen. Andrew, after depositing his basket beside the stove, shook +hands with a sort of sad awkwardness. Robert saw that the man had +aged immeasurably since he had last seen him.</p> + +<p>“It is a cold night, Mr. Brewster,” he said, and knew +the moment he said it that it was not a happy remark.</p> + +<p>“It is pretty cold,” agreed Andrew, “and it's +cold here in this room.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it'll be warm in a minute; this stove heats up +quick,” cried Fanny, with agitated briskness. She began pulling +the kindlings out of the basket.</p> + +<p>“Here, you let me do that,” said Andrew, and was down +on his knees beside her. The two were cramming the fuel into the +little, air-tight stove, while Robert was greeting Ellen. The +awkwardness of the situation was evidently overcoming her. She was +quite pale, and her voice trembled as she returned his good-evening. +Amabel left the young man, and clung tightly to Ellen's hand, drawing +her skirt around her until only her little face was visible above the +folds.</p> + +<div align="center"> +<a href="images/plimage7.jpg"> +<img src="images/plimage7.jpg" width="443" height="651" +alt="The awkwardness of the situation was evidently overcoming her"></a> +</div> + +<p>The fumes from a match filled the room, and the fire began to +roar.</p> + +<p>“It'll be warm in a minute,” said Fanny, rising. +“You leave the register open till it's real good and hot, +Ellen, and there's plenty more wood in the basket. Here, Amabel, you +come out in the other room with Aunt Fanny.”</p> + +<p>But Amabel, instead of obeying, made a dart towards Robert, who +caught her up, laughing, and smuggled her into the depths of his +fur-lined coat.</p> + +<p>“Come right along, Amabel,” said Fanny.</p> + +<p>But Amabel clung fast to Robert, with a mischievous roll of an eye +at her aunt.</p> + +<p>“Amabel,” said Fanny, authoritatively.</p> + +<p>“Come, Amabel,” said Andrew.</p> + +<p>“Oh, let her stay,” Robert said, laughing. “I'll +keep her in my coat until it is warm.”</p> + +<p>“I'm afraid she'll bother you,” said Fanny.</p> + +<p>“Not a bit,” replied Robert.</p> + +<p>“You are a naughty girl, Amabel,” said Fanny; but she +went out of the room, with Andrew at her heels. She did not know what +else to do, since the young man had expressed a desire to keep the +child. She had thought he would have preferred a +<i>tête-à-tête</i> with Ellen. Ellen sat down on +the sofa covered with olive-green plush, beyond the table, and the +light of the hideous lamp fell full upon her face. She was thin, and +much of her lovely bloom was missing between her agitation and the +cold; but Robert, looking at her, realized how dear she was to him. +There was something about that small figure, and that fair head held +with such firmness of pride, and that soul outlooking from steady +blue eyes, which filled all his need of life. His love for the pearl +quite ignored its setting of the common and the ridiculous. He looked +at her and smiled. Ellen smiled back tremulously, then she cast down +her eyes. The fire was roaring, but the room was freezing. The +sitting-room door was opened a crack, and remained so for a second, +then it was widened, and Andrew peeped in. Then he entered, tiptoeing +gingerly, as if he were afraid of disturbing a meeting. He brought a +blue knitted shawl, which he put over Ellen's shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Mother thinks you had better keep this on till the room +gets warm,” he whispered. Then he withdrew, shutting the door +softly.</p> + +<p>Robert, left alone with Ellen in this solemnly important fashion, +felt utterly at a loss. He had never considered himself especially +shy, but an embarrassment which was almost ridiculous was over him. +Ellen sat with her eyes cast down. He felt that the child on his knee +was regarding them both curiously.</p> + +<p>“If you have come to see Ellen, why don't you speak to +her?” demanded Amabel, suddenly. Then both Robert and Ellen +laughed.</p> + +<p>“This is your aunt's little girl, isn't she?” asked +Robert.</p> + +<p>Amabel answered before Ellen was able. “My mamma is sick, +and they carried her away to the asylum,” she told Robert. +“She—she tried to hurt Amabel; she tried +to”—Amabel made that hideous gesture with her tiny +forefinger across her throat. “Mamma was sick or she +wouldn't,” she added, challengingly, to Robert.</p> + +<p>“Of course she wouldn't, you poor little soul,” said +Robert.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Amabel burst into tears, and began to wriggle herself +free from his arms. “Let me go,” she demanded; “let +me go. I want Ellen.”</p> + +<p>When Robert loosened his grasp she fled to Ellen, and was in her +lap with a bound.</p> + +<p>“I want my mamma—I want my mamma,” she +moaned.</p> + +<p>Ellen leaned her cheek against the poor little flaxen head. +“There, there, darling,” she whispered, “don't. +Mamma will come home as soon as she gets better.”</p> + +<p>“How long will that be, Ellen?”</p> + +<p>“Pretty soon, I hope, darling. Don't.”</p> + +<p>Poor Eva Tenny had been in the asylum some four months, and the +reports as to her condition were no more favorable. Ellen's voice, in +spite of herself, had a hopeless tone, which the child was quick to +detect.</p> + +<p>“I want my mamma,” she repeated. “I want her, +Ellen. It has been to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow after +that, and the to-morrows are yesterdays, and she hasn't +come.”</p> + +<p>“She will come some time, darling.”</p> + +<p>Robert sat eying the two with intensest pity. “Do you like +chocolates, Amabel?” he asked.</p> + +<p>The child repeated that she wanted her mother still, as with a +sort of mechanical regularity of grief, but she fastened her eyes on +him.</p> + +<p>“Because I am going to send you a big box of them +to-morrow,” said Robert.</p> + +<p>Amabel turned to Ellen. “Does he mean it?” she +asked.</p> + +<p>“I guess so,” replied Ellen, laughing.</p> + +<p>Amabel, looking from one to the other, also began to laugh +unwillingly.</p> + +<p>Then the sitting-room door opened, and Fanny called sharply and +imperatively, “Amabel, Amabel; come!”</p> + +<p>Amabel clung more tightly to Ellen, who began to gently loosen her +arms.</p> + +<p>“Amabel Tenny, come this minute. It is your bed-time,” +said Fanny.</p> + +<p>“I guess you had better go, darling,” whispered +Ellen.</p> + +<p>“I don't want to go to bed till you do, Ellen,” +whispered the child.</p> + +<p>Ellen gently but firmly unclasped the clinging arms. “Run +along, dear,” she whispered.</p> + +<p>“I will send those chocolates to-morrow,” suggested +Robert.</p> + +<p>Amabel seemed to do everything by sudden and violent impulses. All +at once she ceased resisting. She slid down from Ellen's lap as +quickly as she had gotten into it. She clutched her neck with two +little wiry arms, kissed her hard on the mouth, darted across the +room to Robert, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, then +flew out of the room.</p> + +<p>“She is an interesting child,” said Robert, who felt, +like most people, the delicate flattery of a child's unsolicited +caresses.</p> + +<p>“I am very fond of her,” replied Ellen.</p> + +<p>Then the two were silent. Robert suddenly realized that there was +little to say unless he ventured on debatable ground. It would be too +absurd of him to commence making love at once, and as for asking +Ellen about her work, that seemed a subject better let alone.</p> + +<p>Ellen herself opened the conversation by inquiring for his +aunt.</p> + +<p>“Aunt Cynthia is very well,” replied Robert. “I +was in there last evening. You have not been to see her lately, Miss +Brewster.”</p> + +<p>Robert realized as soon as he had said that that he had made a +mistake.</p> + +<p>“No,” replied Ellen. She obviously paled a little, and +looked at him wistfully. The young man could not stand it any longer, +so straight into the heart of the matter he lunged.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Miss Brewster,” he said, “why on +earth didn't you tell Aunt Cynthia?”</p> + +<p>“Tell her?” repeated Ellen, vaguely.</p> + +<p>“Yes; make a clean breast of it to her. Tell her just why +you went to work, and gave up college?”</p> + +<p>Ellen colored, and looked at him half defiantly, half piteously. +“I told her all I ought to,” she said.</p> + +<p>“But you did not; pardon me,” said Robert, “you +did not tell her half enough. You let her think that you actually of +your own free choice went to work in the factory rather than go to +college.”</p> + +<p>“So I did,” replied Ellen, looking at him proudly.</p> + +<p>“Of course you did, in one sense, but in another you did +not. You deliberately chose to make a sacrifice; but it was a +sacrifice. You cannot deny that it was a sacrifice.”</p> + +<p>Ellen was silent.</p> + +<p>“But you gave Aunt Cynthia the impression that it was not a +sacrifice,” said Robert, almost severely.</p> + +<p>Ellen's face quivered a little. “I saw no other way to +do,” she said, faintly. The authoritative tone which this young +man was taking with her stirred her as nothing had ever stirred her +in her life before. She felt like a child before him.</p> + +<p>“You have no right to give such a false impression of your +own character,” said Robert.</p> + +<p>“It was either that or a false impression of another,” +returned Ellen, tremulously.</p> + +<p>“You mean that she might have blamed your parents, and +thought that they were forcing you into this?”</p> + +<p>Ellen nodded.</p> + +<p>“And I suppose you thought, too, that maybe Aunt Cynthia +would suspect, if you told her all the difficulties, that you were +hinting for more assistance.”</p> + +<p>Ellen nodded, and her lip was quivering. Suddenly all her force of +character seemed to have deserted her, and she looked more like a +child than Amabel. She actually put both her little fists to her +eyes. After all, the girl was very young, a child forced by the +stress of circumstances to premature development, but she could +relapse before the insistence of another nature.</p> + +<p>Robert looked at her, his own face working, then he could bear it +no longer. He was over on the sofa beside Ellen and had her in his +arms. “You poor little thing,” he whispered. +“Don't. I have loved you ever since the first time I saw you. I +ought to have told you so before. Don't you love me a little, +Ellen?”</p> + +<p>But Ellen released herself with a motion of firm elusiveness and +looked at him. The tears still stood in her eyes, but her face was +steady. “I have been putting you out of my mind,” said +she.</p> + +<p>“But could you?” whispered Robert, leaning over +her.</p> + +<p>Ellen did not reply, but looked down and trembled.</p> + +<p>“Could you?” repeated Robert, and there was in his +voice that masculine insistence which is a true note of nature, and +means the subjugation of the feminine into harmony.</p> + +<p>Ellen did not speak, but every line in her body betrayed helpless +yielding.</p> + +<p>“You know you could not,” said Robert with triumph, +and took her in his arms again.</p> + +<p>But he reckoned without the girl, who was, after all, stronger +than her natural instincts, and able to rise above and subjugate +them. She freed herself from him resolutely, rose, and stood before +him, looking at him quite unfalteringly and accusingly.</p> + +<p>“Why do you come now?” she asked. “You say you +have loved me from the first. You came to see me, you walked home +with me, and said things to me that made me think—” She +stopped.</p> + +<p>“Made you think what, dear?” asked Robert. He was pale +and indescribably anxious and appealing. It was suddenly revealed to +him that this plum was so firmly attached to its bough of +individuality that possibly love itself could not loosen it.</p> + +<p>“You made me think that perhaps you did care a +little,” said Ellen, in a low but unfaltering voice.</p> + +<p>“You thought quite right, only not a little, but a great +deal,” said Robert, firmly.</p> + +<p>“Then,” said Ellen, “the moment I gave up going +to college and went to work you never came to see me again; you never +even spoke to me in the shop; you went right past me without a +look.”</p> + +<p>“Good God! child,” Robert interposed, “don't you +know why I did that?”</p> + +<p>Ellen looked at him bewildered, then a burning red overspread her +face. “Yes,” she replied. “I didn't. But I do now. +They would have talked.”</p> + +<p>“I thought you would understand that,” said Robert. +“I had only the best motives for that. I cannot speak to you in +the factory any more than I have done. I cannot expose you to remark; +but as for my not calling, I believed what you said to my aunt and to +me. I thought that you had deliberately preferred a lower life to a +higher one—that you preferred earning money to something +better. I thought—”</p> + +<p>Robert fairly started as Ellen began talking with a fire which +seemed to make her scintillate before his eyes.</p> + +<p>“You talk about a lower and a higher life,” said she. +“Is it true? Is Vassar College any higher than a shoe-factory? +Is any labor which is honest, and done with the best strength of man, +for the best motives, to support the lives of those he loves, or to +supply the needs of his race, any higher than another? Where would +even books be without this very labor which you despise—the +books which I should have learned at college? Instead of being +benefited by the results of labor, I have become part of labor. Why +is that lower?”</p> + +<p>Robert stared at her.</p> + +<p>“I have come to feel all this since I went to work,” +said Ellen, speaking in a high, rapid voice. “When I went to +work, it was, as you thought, for my folks, to help them, for my +father was out of work, and there was no other way. But since I have +been at work I have realized what work really is. There is a glory +over it, as there is over anything which is done faithfully on this +earth for good motives, and I have seen the glory, and I am not +ashamed of it; and while it was a sacrifice at first, now, while I +should like the other better, I do not think it is. I am proud of my +work.”</p> + +<p>The girl spoke with a sort of rapt enthusiasm. The young man +stared, bewildered.</p> + +<p>Robert caught Ellen's little hands, which hung, tightly clinched, +in the folds of her dress, and drew her down to his side again. +“See here, dear,” he said, “maybe you are right. I +never looked at it in this way before, but you do not understand. I +love you; I want to marry you. I want to make you my wife, and lift +you out of this forever.”</p> + +<p>Then again Ellen freed herself, and straightened her head and +faced him. “There is nothing for me to be lifted out of,” +said she. “You speak as if I were in a pit. I am on a +height.”</p> + +<p>“My God! child, how many others feel as you, do you think, +out of the whole lot?” cried Robert.</p> + +<p>“I don't know,” replied Ellen, “but it is true. +What I feel is true.”</p> + +<p>Robert caught up her little hand and kissed it. Then he looked at +its delicate outlines. “Well, it may be true,” he said, +“but look at yourself. Can't you see that you are not fashioned +for manual labor? Look at this little hand.”</p> + +<p>“That little hand can do the work,” Ellen replied, +proudly.</p> + +<p>“But, dear,” said Robert, “admitting all this, +admitting that you are not in a position to be lifted—admitting +everything—let us come back to our original starting-point. +Dear, I love you, and I want you for my wife. Will you marry +me?”</p> + +<p>“No, I never can,” replied Ellen, with a long, sobbing +breath of renunciation.</p> + +<p>“Why not? Don't you love me?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I think it must be true that I do. I said I wouldn't; +I have tried not to, but I think it must be true that I +do.”</p> + +<p>“Then why not marry me?”</p> + +<p>“Because it will be impossible for my father and mother to +get along and support Amabel and Aunt Eva without my help,” +said Ellen, directly.</p> + +<p>“But I—” began Robert.</p> + +<p>“Do you think I will burden you with the support of a whole +family?” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Ellen, you don't know what I would be willing to do if I +could have you,” cried the young man, fervently. And he was +quite in earnest. At that moment it seemed to him that he could even +come and live there in that house, with the hideous lamp, and the +crushed-plush furniture, and the eager mother; that he could go +without anything and everything to support them if only he could have +this girl who was fairly storming his heart.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn't be willing to have you,” said Ellen, +firmly. “As things are now I cannot marry you, Mr. Lloyd. Then, +too,” she added, “you asked me just now how many people +looked at all this labor as I do, and I dare say not very many. I +know not many of your kind of people. I know how your uncle looks at +it. It would hurt you socially to marry a girl from a shoe-shop. +Whether it is just or not, it would hurt you. It cannot be, as +matters are now, Mr. Lloyd.”</p> + +<p>“But you love me?”</p> + +<p>Ellen suddenly, as if pushed by some mighty force outside herself, +leaned towards him, and he caught her in his arms. He tipped back her +face and kissed her, and looked down at her masterfully.</p> + +<p>“We will wait a little,” he said. “I will never +give you up as long as I live if you love me, Ellen.”</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XXXIX</h3> + +<p>When Ellen went out into the sitting-room that evening, after +Robert Lloyd had taken leave, her father and mother were still there, +although the callers had gone. Both of them looked furtively at her +as she went through the room to the kitchen to get a lamp, then they +looked at each other. Fanny was glowing with half shamefaced triumph; +Andrew was pale. Ellen did not re-enter the room, but simply paused +at the door, before going up-stairs, and they had a vision of a face +in a tumult of emotions, with eyes and hair illuminated to excess of +brilliancy by the lamp which she held.</p> + +<p>“Good-night,” she called, and her voice did not sound +like her own.</p> + +<p>“Something has happened,” Fanny whispered to Andrew, +when Ellen's chamber door had closed.</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose she's goin' to?” whispered Andrew, in +a sort of breathless fashion. His eyes on his wife's face were sad +and wistful.</p> + +<p>“Hush! How do I know?” asked Fanny. “I always +told you he liked her.”</p> + +<p>However, Fanny looked disturbed. Presently she went out in the +kitchen to mix up some bread, and she wept a little, standing in a +corner, with her face hidden in the folds of an old shawl which hung +there on a peg. Dictatorial towards circumstances as she was when her +beloved daughter came in question, and proud as she was at the +prospect of an advantageous marriage for her, she remembered her +sister in the asylum, she remembered how Andrew was out of work, and +she could not understand how it was to be managed. And all this was +aside from the grief which she would have felt in any case at losing +Ellen.</p> + +<p>As for Andrew, the next morning he put on his best clothes and +went by trolley-cars to the next manufacturing town, not a city like +Rowe, but a busy little place with two large factories, and tried in +vain to get a job there. As he came home on the crowded car, his face +was so despairing that the people looked curiously at him. Andrew had +always been mild and peaceable, but at that moment anarchistic +principles began to ferment in him. When a portly man, swelling +ostentatiously with broadcloth and fine linen, wearing a silk hat, +and carrying a gold-headed cane like a wand of office, got into the +car, Andrew looked at him with a sidelong glance which was almost +murderous. The spiritual bomb, which is in all our souls for our +fellow-men, began to swell towards explosion. This man was the +proprietor of one of the great factories in Leavitt, the town where +Andrew had vainly sought a job. He had been in the office when Andrew +entered, and the latter had heard his low voice of instruction to the +foreman that the man was too old. The manufacturer, who weighed +heavily, and described a vast curve of opulence from silk hat to his +patent-leathers, sat opposite, his gold-headed cane planted in the +aisle, his countenance a blank of complacent power. Andrew felt that +he hated him.</p> + +<p>The man's face was not intellectual, not as intellectual as +Andrew's. He gave the impression of the force of matter oncoming and +irresistible, some inertia which had started Heaven knew how. This +man had inherited great wealth, as Andrew knew. He had capital with +which to begin, and he had strength to roll the accumulating ball. +Andrew felt more and more how he hated this man. He had told his +foreman that Andrew was too old, and Andrew knew that he was no +older, if as old, as the man himself.</p> + +<p>“If I had been born under the Czar, and done with it, I +should have felt differently,” he told himself. “But who +is this man? What right has he to say that his fellow-men shall or +shall not? Does even his own property give him the right of dictation +over others? What is property? Is it anything but a temporary lease +while he draws the breath of life? What of it in the tomb, to which +he shall surely come? Shall a temporary possession give a man the +right to wield eternal power? For the power of giving or withholding +the means of life may produce eternal results.”</p> + +<p>When the man rose and moved down the car, oscillating heavily, +steadying himself with his gold-headed cane, and got out in front of +a portentous mansion, Andrew would scarcely have recognized the look +in his own eyes had he seen himself in a mirror.</p> + +<p>“That chap is pretty well fixed,” said a man next him, +to one on the other side.</p> + +<p>“A cool half-million,” replied the other.</p> + +<p>“More than that,” said the first speaker. “His +father left him half a million to start with, besides the business, +and he's been piling up ever since.”</p> + +<p>“Do you work there?”</p> + +<p>“Did, but I had what was mighty nigh a sunstroke last +summer; had to quit. It was damned hot up there under the roof. It's +the same old factory his father had.”</p> + +<p>“Goin' to work again?”</p> + +<p>“Next week, if I'm able, but I dun'no' whether I can stay +there longer than till spring. It's damned hot up there under the +roof.”</p> + +<p>The man who spoke had a leaden hue of face, something ghastly, as +if the deadly heat had begun a work of decomposition. Andrew looked +at him, and his hatred against the rich man who had built himself a +stately mansion, and kept his fellow-creatures at work for him in an +unhealthy factory in tropical heat, and had condemned him for being +too old, was redoubled.</p> + +<p>“Andrew Brewster, where have you been?” Fanny asked, +when he got home.</p> + +<p>“I've been to Leavitt,” answered Andrew, shortly.</p> + +<p>“To see if you could get a job there?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>Fanny did not ask if he had been successful. She sighed, and took +another stitch in the wrapper which she was making. That sigh almost +drove Andrew mad.</p> + +<p>“I don't see what has got you into such a habit of +sighing,” he said, brutally.</p> + +<p>Fanny looked at him with reproachful anger. “Andrew +Brewster, you ain't like yourself,” said she.</p> + +<p>“I can't help it.”</p> + +<p>“There's no need for you to pitch into me because you can't +get work; I ain't to blame. I'm doing all I can. I won't stand it, +and you might as well know it first as last.”</p> + +<p>Fanny glared angrily at her husband, then the tears sprang to her +eyes.</p> + +<p>Andrew hesitated a moment, then he leaned over her and put his +thin cheek against her rough black hair. “The Lord knows I +don't mean to be harsh to you, you poor girl,” said he, +“but I wish I was dead.”</p> + +<p>Fanny seemed to spring into resistance like a wire. “Then +you are a coward, Andrew Brewster,” said she, hotly. +“Talk about wishin' you was dead. I 'ain't got time to die. +You'd 'nough sight better go out into the yard and split up some of +that wood.”</p> + +<p>“I didn't mean to speak so, Fanny,” said Andrew, +“but sometimes I get desperate, and I've been thinking of +Ellen.”</p> + +<p>“Don't you suppose I have?” asked Fanny, angrily.</p> + +<p>“Well, there's one thing about it; we won't stand in her +way,” said Andrew.</p> + +<p>“No, we won't,” replied Fanny. “I'll go out +washing first.”</p> + +<p>“She hasn't said anything?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>As time went on Ellen still said nothing. She had made a curious +compact for a young girl with her lover. She had stipulated that no +engagement was to exist, that she should be perfectly free—when +she said that she thought of Maud Hemingway, but she said it without +a tremor—and if years hence both were free and of the same mind +they might talk of it again.</p> + +<p>Robert had rebelled strenuously. “You know this will shut me +off from seeing much of you,” he said. “You know I told +you how it will be about my even talking much to you in the +factory.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I understand that now,” replied Ellen, blushing; +“and I understand, too, that you cannot come to see me very +often under such circumstances without making talk.”</p> + +<p>“How often?” Robert asked, impetuously.</p> + +<p>Ellen hesitated, her lip quivered a little, but her voice was +firm. “Not oftener than two or three times a year, I am +afraid,” said she.</p> + +<p>“Great Scott!” cried Robert. Then he caught her in his +arms again. “Do you suppose I can stand that?” he +whispered. “Ellen, I cannot consent to this!”</p> + +<p>“It is the only way,” said she. She freed herself from +him enough to look into his eyes with a brave, fearless gaze of +comradeship, which somehow seemed to make her dearer than anything +else.</p> + +<p>“But to see you to speak to only two or three times a +year!” groaned Robert. “You are cruel, Ellen. You don't +know how I love you.”</p> + +<p>“There isn't any other way,” said Ellen. Then she +looked up into his face with a brave innocence of confession like a +child. “It hurts me, too,” said she.</p> + +<p>Robert had her in his arms, and was covering her face with kisses. +“You darling,” he whispered. “It shall not be long. +Something will happen. We cannot live so. We will let it go so a +little while, but something will turn up. I shall have a more +responsible place and a larger salary, then—”</p> + +<p>“Do you think I will let you?” asked Ellen, with a +great blush.</p> + +<p>“I will, whether you will let me or not,” cried +Robert; and at that moment he felt inclined to marry the entire +Brewster family rather than give up this girl.</p> + +<p>However, as he went home, walking that he might think the better, +he had to confess to himself that the girl was right; that, as +matters were, anything definite was out of the question. He had to +admit that it might be a matter of years.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XL</h3> + +<p>When Ellen had been at work in the factory a year, she was running +a machine and working by the piece, and earning on an average +eighteen dollars a week. Of course that was an unusual advance for a +girl, but Ellen was herself unusual. She came to work in those days +with such swiftness and unswerving accuracy that she seemed fairly a +part of the great system of labor itself. While she was at her +machine, her very individuality seemed lost; she became an integral +part of a system.</p> + +<p>“She's one of the best hands we ever had,” Flynn told +Norman Lloyd one day.</p> + +<p>“I am glad to hear that,” Lloyd responded, smiling +with that peculiar smile of his which was like a cold flash of +steel.</p> + +<p>“Curse him, he thinks no more of anybody in this shop than +he does of the machine they work,” Flynn thought as he watched +the proprietor walking with his stately descent down the stairs. The +noon whistle was blowing, and the younger Lloyd went leaping down the +stairs and joined his uncle, then the two walked down the street, +away from the factory. The factory at that time of year began to +present, in spite of its crude architecture, quite a charming +appearance, from the luxuriant vines which covered it and were +beginning to get autumnal tints of red and russet. All the front of +Lloyd's was covered with vines, which had grown with amazing +swiftness. Mrs. Lloyd often used to look at them and reflect upon +them with complacency.</p> + +<p>“I should think it would make it pleasanter for the men to +work in the factory, when it looks so pretty and green,” she +told her husband one of the hottest days of the preceding summer. As +she spoke she compressed her lips in a way which was becoming +habitual to her. It meant the endurance of a sharp stab of vital +pain. There was a terrible pathos in the poor woman's appearance at +that time. She still kept about. Her malady did not seem to be on the +increase, but it endured. Her form had changed indescribably. She had +not lost flesh, but she had a curious, distorted look, and one on +seeing her had a bewildered feeling, and looked again to be sure that +he had seen aright. Her ghastly pallor she concealed in a manner +which she thought distinctly sinful. She painted and powdered. She +did not dare purchase openly the concoctions which were used for +improving her complexion, but she went to a manicure and invested in +a colored salve for her finger-nails. This, with rather surprising +skill for such a conscience-pricked tyro, she applied to the pale +curves of her cheeks and her blue lips. She took more pains than ever +before with her dress, and it was all to deceive her husband, that he +should not be annoyed. She felt a desperate shame because of her +illness; she felt it to be a direct personal injury to this masculine +power which had been set over her gentle femininity. It was not so +much because she was afraid of losing his affection that she +concealed her affliction from him, as because she felt that the +affliction itself was somehow an act of disloyalty. Her terrible +malady had in a way affected her reasoning powers, so that they had +become distorted by a monstrous growth of suffering, like her body. +She would not give up going about as usual, and was never absent from +church. She drove about with her husband in his smart trap. Twice she +had gone with Robert to consult the New York specialist, taking times +when Norman was away on business. She still would not consent to an +operation, and lately the specialist had been lukewarm in advising +it. He had indeed been doubtful from the first.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lloyd treated Robert with a soft affection which was almost +like that of a mother. One night, when he returned late from a call +on Ellen, she sat up waiting for him. He had not called on Ellen +before for several months, and it was nearly midnight when he +returned.</p> + +<p>“Why, Aunt Lizzie, are you up?” he cried, as he +entered the library door and saw his aunt's figure, clad in shining +black satin, gleaming with jet, in the depths of an easy-chair.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lloyd looked up at him with an expression of patient +suffering. “I couldn't go to sleep if I went to bed, +Robert,” she replied, in a hushed voice. She found it a comfort +sometimes to confess her pain to him. Robert went over to her, and +drew her large, crinkled, blond head to his shoulder as if she had +been a child.</p> + +<p>“Poor thing,” he whispered, stroking her face +pitifully. “Is it very terrible?” he asked, with his lips +close to her ear.</p> + +<p>“Terrible,” she whispered back. “Oh, Robert, you +do not know; pray God you may never know.”</p> + +<p>“I wish to God I could bear it for you, Aunt Lizzie,” +Robert said, fervently.</p> + +<p>“Oh, hush! If you or Norman had to bear anything like this, +I should curse God and die,” she answered, and she shut her +mouth hard, and her whole face was indicative of a repressed +shriek.</p> + +<p>“Aunt Lizzie, don't you think you ought to go to New York, +that you ought—” Robert began, but she stopped him with +an almost fierce peremptoriness. “Robert Lloyd, I have trusted +you,” she said. “For God's sake, don't forsake me. Don't +say a word to me about that; when I can I will. It means my death, +anyhow. Dr. Evarts thought so; you can't deny it.”</p> + +<p>“I think he thought there was a chance, Aunt Lizzie,” +Robert returned, but he said it faintly.</p> + +<p>“You can't cheat me,” replied Mrs. Lloyd. “I +know.” She had a lapse from pain, and her features began to +assume their natural expression. She looked at him almost smiling, +and as if she turned her back upon her own misery. “Where have +you been, Robert?” she asked.</p> + +<p>Robert colored a little, but he answered directly enough. “I +have been to make a call on Miss Brewster,” he said.</p> + +<p>“You don't go there very often,” said Mrs. Lloyd.</p> + +<p>“No, not very often.”</p> + +<p>“She's a beautiful girl, as beautiful a girl as I ever laid +eyes on, if she does work in the shop,” said Mrs. Lloyd, +“and she's a good girl, too; I know she is. She was the +sweetest little thing when she was a child, and she 'ain't altered a +mite!” Then Mrs. Lloyd looked with a sort of wistful curiosity +at Robert.</p> + +<p>“I think it is all true, what you say, Aunt Lizzie,” +replied Robert.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lloyd continued to look at him with that wistful +scrutiny.</p> + +<p>“Robert,” she began, then she hesitated.</p> + +<p>“What, Aunt Lizzie?”</p> + +<p>“If—ever you wanted to marry that girl, I don't see +any reason why you shouldn't, for my part.”</p> + +<p>Robert pulled a chair close to his aunt, and sat down beside her, +still holding her hand.</p> + +<p>“I've a good mind to tell you the whole story, Aunt +Lizzie,” he said.</p> + +<p>“I wish you would, Robert. You know I think as much of you +as if you were my own son, and I won't tell anybody, not even your +uncle, if you don't want me to.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, it is all in a nutshell,” said Robert. +“I like her, you know, and I think I have ever since I saw her +in her little white gown at the high-school exhibition.”</p> + +<p>“Wasn't she sweet?” said his aunt.</p> + +<p>“And she likes me, too, I think.”</p> + +<p>“Of course she does.”</p> + +<p>“But you know what my salary is, and her whole family is in +a measure dependent upon her.”</p> + +<p>“Hasn't her father got work?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“I'll speak to Norman,” cried Mrs. Lloyd, quickly. +“I know he would do it for me.”</p> + +<p>“But even then, Aunt Lizzie, there is the aunt in the +asylum, and the child, and—”</p> + +<p>“Your uncle will pay you more.”</p> + +<p>“It isn't altogether that; in fact, it isn't that at all +which is at the bottom of the difficulty. The difficulty is with +Ellen herself. She will never consent to my marrying her, and having +to support her family, while matters are as now. You don't know how +proud she is, Aunt Lizzie.”</p> + +<p>“She is a splendid girl.”</p> + +<p>“As far as I am concerned I would marry the whole lot on a +little more than I have now, but she would not let me do it. There's +nothing to do but to wait.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps the aunt will get well and her husband will come +back; and I will see, anyway, if Norman won't give her father +work,” said Mrs. Lloyd.</p> + +<p>“I think you had better not, Aunt Lizzie.”</p> + +<p>“Why not, Robert?”</p> + +<p>“There are reasons why I think you had better not.” +Robert would not tell her that Ellen had begged him not to use any +influence of his to get her father work.</p> + +<p>“After the way father has been turned off, I can't stand +it,” she had said, with a sort of angry dignity which was +unusual to her. In fact, her father himself had begged her not to +make use of Robert in any way for his own advancement.</p> + +<p>“If they don't want me for my work, I don't want to crawl in +because the nephew of the boss likes my daughter,” he had said. +This speech was fairly rough for him, but Ellen had understood.</p> + +<p>“I know what you mean, father,” she said.</p> + +<p>“I'd rather work in the road,” said Andrew. That +autumn he was getting jobs of clearing up yards of fallen leaves, and +gathering feed-corn and pumpkins, and earning a pittance. Fanny +continued to work on her wrappers. “It's a mercy wrappers don't +go out of fashion,” she often said.</p> + +<p>“I suppose things that folks can get for nothing ain't so +apt to go out of fashion,” Andrew retorted, bitterly. He hated +the wrappers with a deadly hatred. He hated the sight of the limp row +of them on his bedroom wall. Nobody knew how the family pinched and +screwed in those days.</p> + +<p>They were using the small fund which they secured from the house +mortgage, Ellen's earnings, and Fanny's and Andrew's, and every cent +had to be counted, but there was something splendid in their loyalty +to poor Eva in the asylum. The thought of deserting her in her +extremity never occurred to them.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lloyd spoke of her that night, when she and Robert were +talking together in the library.</p> + +<p>“They are good folks, to keep on doing for that poor woman +in the asylum,” she said.</p> + +<p>“They would never desert a dog that belonged to them,” +Robert answered, fervently. “I tell you that trait is worth a +good many others, Aunt Lizzie.”</p> + +<p>“I guess it is,” said his aunt. Then another paroxysm +of pain seized her. She looked at Robert with a convulsed, speechless +face. He held her hands more tightly, his own face contracting in +sympathy, and watched his aunt with a sort of angry helplessness. But +he felt as if he wanted to fight something for the sake of this poor, +oppressed, innocent creature; indeed, he felt fairly blasphemous. But +this time the pain passed quickly, and Mrs. Lloyd looked at her +nephew with an expression of relief and gentleness which was almost +angelic. When the pain was over she thought again of the Brewsters, +and how they would not have forsaken her in her misery, had she +belonged to them, any more than they had forsaken the insane +aunt.</p> + +<p>“They are good folks,” said she, “and that is +the main thing. That is the main thing to consider when you are +marrying into a family, Robert. It is more than riches and position. +The power they've got of loving and standing by each other is worth +more than anything else.”</p> + +<p>“You are right, Aunt Lizzie, I guess there's no doubt of +that,” said Robert.</p> + +<p>“And that girl's beautiful,” said Mrs. Lloyd. She +gazed at the young man with a delicate understanding and sympathy +which was almost beyond that of a sweetheart. Robert felt as if a +soft hand of tenderness and blessing were laid on his inmost heart. +He looked at her like a grateful child.</p> + +<p>“There isn't anybody like her, is there, Aunt Lizzie?” +he asked.</p> + +<p>“No, I don't think there is, dear boy,” said Mrs. +Lloyd. “I do think she is the sweetest little thing I ever saw +in my life.”</p> + +<p>Robert brought his aunt's hand to his lips and kissed it. It +seemed to him for a minute as if the love and sympathy of this martyr +were almost more precious than the love of Ellen herself.</p> + +<p>He realized when he was in his own room, and the house was quiet, +how much he loved his aunt, and how hard her pain and probably +inevitable doom were for him to bear. Then something came to him +which he had never felt before—a great, burning anxiety and +tenderness and terror over Ellen, because she was of the weaker half +of creation, which is born to the larger share of pain in the world. +He felt that he would almost have given her up, yielded up forever +all his delight in her, to spare her; for the pain of knighthood, +which is in every true lover, awoke in his heart.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XLI</h3> + +<p>Nahum Beals was a laster in Lloyd's. Late in the autumn, when +Ellen had been in the factory a little over a year, there began to be +a subtle condition of discontent and insubordination. Men gathered in +muttering groups, of which Nahum Beals seemed always to be the +nucleus. His high, rampant voice, restrained by no fear of +consequences, always served as the key-note to the chorus of +rebellion. Ellen paid little attention to it. She was earning good +wages, and personally she had nothing of which to complain. She had +come to regard Beals as something of a chronic fanatic, but as she +knew that the lasters were fairly paid, she had not supposed it meant +anything. However, one night, going home from the factory, her eyes +were opened. Abby and Maria Atkins and Mamie Brady were with her, and +shortly after they had left the shop Abby stopped Granville Joy, +Frank Dixon, and Willy Jones, who with another young man were +swinging past without noticing the girls, strange to say. Abby caught +Joy by the arm.</p> + +<p>“Hold on a minute, Granville Joy,” said she. “I +want to know what's up with the lasters.”</p> + +<p>Granville laughed, with an uneasy, sidelong, deprecating glance at +Ellen. “Oh, nothing much,” said he.</p> + +<p>Willy Jones stood still, coloring, gazing at Abby with a +half-terrified expression. Dixon walked on, and the other young man, +Amos Lee, who was dark and slight and sinewy, stared from one to the +other with quick flashes of black eyes. He looked almost as if he had +gypsy blood in him, and he came of a family which was further on the +outskirts of society than the Louds had been.</p> + +<p>When Granville replied “nothing much” to Abby's +question, Amos Lee frowned with a swift contraction of dissent, but +did not speak until Abby had retorted. “You needn't talk that +way to me, Granville Joy,” said she. “You can't cheat me. +I know something's up.”</p> + +<p>“It ain't nothin', Abby,” said Granville, but it was +quite evident that he was lying.</p> + +<p>Then Lee spoke up, in a sudden fury of enthusiasm. “There is +somethin' up,” said he, “and I don't care if you do know +it. There's—” he stopped as Granville clutched his arm +violently and whispered something.</p> + +<p>“Well, maybe you're right,” said Lee to Joy. +“Look here,” he continued to Abby, “you and Ellen +come along here a little ways, and I'll tell you.”</p> + +<p>After Maria and Mamie had passed on, Joy and Jones and Lee, +standing close to the two girls, began to talk, Lee leading.</p> + +<p>“Well, look here,” he said, in a hushed voice. +“We've found out—no matter how, but we've found +out—that the boss is goin' to dock the lasters' pay.”</p> + +<p>“How much?” asked Abby.</p> + +<p>“Fifteen per cent.”</p> + +<p>“Good Lord!” said Abby.</p> + +<p>“We ain't going to stand it,” said Lee.</p> + +<p>“I don't see how we can stand it,” said Willy Jones, +with a slightly interrogative tone directed towards Abby. Granville +looked at Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Are you sure?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Perfectly sure,” replied Granville. “What do +you think about it, Ellen?”</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do?” asked Ellen, +thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“Strike for fifteen per cent. more before he has a chance to +dock us,” cried Lee, with a hushed vehemence, looking about +warily to make sure that no one overheard.</p> + +<p>“The worst of it is, I know it all comes from Nahum Beals, +and he's half cracked,” said Abby, bluntly.</p> + +<p>“He's got the right of it, anyhow,” said Lee.</p> + +<p>The two girls walked on, while the men lingered behind to +talk.</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose it is true, Abby?” asked Ellen.</p> + +<p>“I don't know. I should, if it wasn't for that Lee fellow. I +can't bear him. And that Nahum Beals, I believe he's half +mad.”</p> + +<p>“I feel the same way about him,” said Ellen; +“but think what it would mean, fifteen per cent. less on their +wages.”</p> + +<p>“It doesn't mean so much for those young fellows, except +Willy Jones; he's got enough on his shoulders.”</p> + +<p>“No, but ever so many of the lasters have large +families.”</p> + +<p>“I hope they don't drag Willy Jones into it,” said +Abby. She looked back as she spoke. Willy, in the little knot of men, +was looking after her, and their eyes met. Abby colored.</p> + +<p>“It's a shame to dock his wages,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Whose—Willy Jones's?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I hope he won't get into any trouble. I can't bear +that Lee.”</p> + +<p>“Still, to dock their wages fifteen per cent.,” said +Ellen, thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“What right has Mr. Lloyd?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose he'd say he has the right because he has the +capital.”</p> + +<p>“I don't see why that gives him the right.”</p> + +<p>“You'd better go and talk to him,” said Abby. +“As for me, I made up my mind when I went to work in the shop +that I'd got to be a bond-slave, all but my soul. That can kick free, +thank the Lord.”</p> + +<p>“I didn't make up my mind to it,” said Ellen. “I +am not going to be a slave in any way, and I am not going to approve +of others being slaves.”</p> + +<p>“You think they ought to strike?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, if it is true that Mr. Lloyd is going to dock their +wages, but I don't feel sure that it is true. Mr. Beals is a queer +man. Sometimes I have thought he was dangerous.”</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XLII</h3> + +<p>Tuesday evening was one of those marvellously clear atmospheres of +autumn which seem to be clearer from the contrast to the mists of the +recent summer. The stars swarmed out in unnumbered hosts.</p> + +<p>“Seems to me I never saw so many stars,” one would say +to another. The air had the sharp cleave of the frost in it. +Everything was glittering with a white rime—the house roofs, +and the levels of fields on the outskirts of the little city.</p> + +<p>Ellen had an errand down-town that evening, and she wrapped +herself up warmly, putting on a fur collar which she had not worn +since the winter before. She felt strangely nervous and disturbed as +she set out.</p> + +<p>“Don't you want your father to go with you?” asked +Fanny, for in some occult fashion the girl's perturbation seemed to +be communicated to her. She followed her to the door.</p> + +<p>“Seems kind of lonesome for you to go alone,” she +said, anxiously.</p> + +<p>“As if I minded! Why, it is as bright as day with the +electric-lights, and there are houses almost all the way,” +laughed Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Your father could go with you, or he could go for +you.”</p> + +<p>“No, he couldn't go for me. I want to get one of the new +catalogues at the library and pick out a book, and there is no sense +in dragging father out. He has a cold, too. Why, there is nothing in +the world to be afraid of, mother.”</p> + +<p>“Well, don't be any longer than you can help,” said +Fanny.</p> + +<p>Ellen, as she passed her grandmother's house, saw a curtain drawn +with a quick motion. That happened nearly every time she passed. She +knew that the old woman was always on the lookout for her, and always +bent on concealing it. Mrs. Zelotes never went into her son's house, +and never spoke to Ellen in those days. She had aged rapidly during +the past year, and even her erect carriage had failed her. She +stooped rigidly when she walked. She was fairly racked with love and +hatred of Ellen. She adored her, she could have kissed the ground she +walked on, and yet she was so full of wrath against her for thwarting +her hopes for her own advancement that she was conscious of cruel +impulses in her direction.</p> + +<p>Ellen walked along rapidly under the vast canopy of stars, about +which she presently began to have a singular impression. She felt as +if they were being augmented, swelled as if by constantly oncoming +legions of light from the space beyond space, and as if her little +space of individuality, her tiny foothold of creation, was being +constantly narrowed by them.</p> + +<p>“I never saw so many stars,” she said to herself. She +looked with wonder at the Milky Way, which was like a zone of diamond +dust. Suddenly a mighty conviction of God, which was like the blazing +forth of a new star, was in her soul. Ellen was not in a sense +religious, and had never united with the Congregational Church, which +she had always attended with her parents; she had never been +responsive to efforts made towards her so-called conversion, but all +at once, under the stars that night, she told herself with an +absolute certainty of the truth of it. “There is something +beyond everything, beyond the stars, and beyond all poor men, and +beyond me, which is enough for all needs. We shall have our portion +in the end.”</p> + +<p>She had been feeling discouraged lately, although she would not +own it even to herself. She saw Robert but seldom, and her aunt was +no better. She often wondered if there could be anything before her +but that one track of drudgery for daily bread upon which she had set +out. She wondered if she ought not to say positively to Robert that +there must be no thought of anything between them in the future. She +wondered if she were not wronging him. Once or twice she had seen him +riding with Miss Hemingway, and thought that, after all, that was a +girl better suited to him, and perhaps if he had no hope whatever of +her he might turn to the other to his own advantage. But to-night, +with the clear stimulus of the frost in her lungs, and her eyes and +soul dazzled with the multiplicity of stars, she began to have a +great impetus of courage, like a soldier on the morning of battle. +She felt as if she could fight for her joy and the joy of others, and +victory would in the end be certain; that the chances of victory ran +to infinity, and could not be measured.</p> + +<p>However, all the while, in spite of her stimulation of spirits, +there was that vague sense of excitement, as over some impending +crisis. That she could not throw off. Suddenly she found herself +searching the road ahead of her, and often turning at the fancied +sound of a footstep. She began to wish that her father had come with +her; then she told herself how foolish she was, for he had a cold, +and this keen air would have been sure to give him more. The +electric-car passed her, and she had a grateful sense of +companionship. She looked after its diminishing light in the +distance, and almost wished that she had stopped it, but car-fares +had to be counted carefully.</p> + +<p>She began to dread unspeakably passing the factories. She told +herself that there was no sense in it, that it was not late, that the +electric-light made it like high noon, that there was a watchman in +each building, that there was nothing whatever to fear; but it was in +vain. It was only by a great effort of her will that she did not turn +and go back home when she reached Lloyd's.</p> + +<p>Lloyd's came first; then, a few rods farther, on the other side of +the street, McGuire's, and then Briggs's.</p> + +<p>Ellen had a library book under her arm, and she clutched her +dress-skirt firmly. A terror as to the supernatural was stealing over +her. She felt as she had when waking in the night from some dreadful +dream, though all the time she was dinning in her ears how foolish +she was. She saw the lantern of the night-watchman in Lloyd's moving +down a stair which crossed a window.</p> + +<p>She came opposite Lloyd's, and, just as she did so, saw a dark +figure descending the right-hand flight of stairs from the entrance +platform. She thought, from something in the carriage, that it was +Mr. Lloyd, and hung back a little, reflecting that she would keep +behind him all the way to town.</p> + +<p>The man reached the ground at the foot of the stairs, then there +was a flash of fire from the shadow underneath, and a shot rang out. +Ellen did what she could never have counted upon herself for doing. +She ran straight towards the man, who had fallen prostrate like a +log, and was down on the ground beside him, with his head on her lap, +shouting for the night-watchman, whose name was McLaughlin.</p> + +<p>“McLaughlin!” she shouted. But there was no need of +it, for he had heard the shot. The cry had not left Ellen's lips +before she was surrounded by men, one of whom was Granville Joy, one +was Dixon, and one was John Sargent.</p> + +<p>Joy and Sargent had met down-town, and were walking home together, +when the shot rang out, and they had rushed forward. Then there was +McLaughlin, the watchman of Lloyd's, and the two watchmen from +Briggs's and McGuire's came pelting down their stairs, swinging their +lanterns.</p> + +<p>They all stood around the wounded man and Ellen, and stared for a +second. They were half stupefied.</p> + +<p>“My God! this is a bad job,” said Dixon.</p> + +<p>“Go for a doctor,” cried Ellen, hoarsely.</p> + +<p>“We're a pack of fools,” ejaculated Sargent, suddenly. +Then he gave Granville Joy a push on the back. “Run for your +life for the first doctor,” he cried, and was down on his knees +beside the wounded man. Lloyd seemed to be quite insensible. There +was a dark spot which was constantly widening in a hideous circle of +death on his shirt-front when Sargent opened his coat and vest +tenderly.</p> + +<p>“Is he—” whispered Ellen. She held one of +Lloyd's hands in a firm clutch as if she would in such wise hold him +to life.</p> + +<p>“No, not yet,” whispered Sargent. Dixon knelt down on +the other side, and took Lloyd's other hand and felt his pulse. +McLaughlin was rushing aimlessly up and down, talking as he went.</p> + +<p>“I never heard a thing till that shot came,” he kept +repeating. “He'd jest been in to get his pocketbook he'd left +in the office. I never heard a thing till I heard that +shot.”</p> + +<p>Sargent was opening Lloyd's shirt. “McLaughlin, for God's +sake stop talking and run for another doctor, in case Joy does not +get one at once,” he cried; “then go to his house, and +tell young Lloyd, but don't say anything to his wife.”</p> + +<p>“Poor Mrs. Lloyd,” whispered Ellen.</p> + +<p>The sick man sighed audibly. It seemed as if he had heard. The +other watchmen stood looking on helplessly.</p> + +<p>“Why in thunder don't you two scatter, and see if you can't +catch him,” cried Dixon to them. “He can't be far +off.”</p> + +<p>But the words had no sooner left his mouth than up came a great +Swede who was one of the workmen in Lloyd's, and he had Nahum Beals +in a grasp as imperturbable as fate. The assassin, even with the +strength of his fury of fanaticism, was as a reed in the grasp of +this Northern giant. The Swede held him easily, walking him before +him in a forced march. He had a hand of Nahum's in each of his, and +he compelled Nahum's right hand to retain the hold of the discharged +pistol. There was something terrible about the Swede as he drew near, +a captor as unyielding and pitiless as justice itself. He was even +smiling with a smile which showed his gums from ear to ear, but there +was no joy in his smile, and no triumph. His blue eyes surveyed them +all with the placid content of achievement.</p> + +<p>“I have him,” he said. “I heard him shoot, and I +heard him run, and I stood still until he ran into my arms. I have +him.”</p> + +<p>Nahum, in the grasp of this fate, was quivering from head to foot, +but not from fear.</p> + +<p>“Is he dead?” he shouted, eagerly.</p> + +<p>“Hush up, you murderer,” cried Dixon. “We didn't +want any such work as this, damn you. Keep fast hold of him, +Olfsen.”</p> + +<p>“I will keep him fast,” replied the Swede, +smiling.</p> + +<p>Then there was a swift clatter of wheels, and two doctors drove +up, and men came running. The space in front of Lloyd's was black +with men. Robert Lloyd was among them. Granville Joy had met him on +the street.</p> + +<p>“You'd better go down to the factory, quick,” he had +said, hoarsely. “There's trouble there; your +uncle—”</p> + +<p>Robert pushed through the crowd, which made way respectfully for +him. He knelt down beside the wounded man. “Is he—” +he whispered to Sargent.</p> + +<p>“Not yet,” whispered Sargent, “but I'm afraid +it's pretty bad.”</p> + +<p>“You here?” Robert said to Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she answered, “I was passing when I heard +the shot.”</p> + +<p>“See here,” said Robert, “I don't know but I am +asking a good deal, but will you get into Dr. James's buggy, and let +his man drive you to my aunt's, and you break it to her? She likes +you. I must stay with him. I don't want her to know it first when he +is brought home.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that will be the best way,” said the other +physician, who was the one regularly employed by the Lloyds. +“Some one must tell her first, and if she knows this young +lady—”</p> + +<p>“I will go,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>Dr. Story whispered something to Ellen as she was getting into the +buggy. Then Dr. James's man drove her away down the street.</p> + +<p>There was a little black mare harnessed to the buggy, and she went +with nervous leaps of speed. When Ellen reached the Lloyd house she +saw that it was blazing with light. Norman Lloyd was fond of +brilliant light, and would have every room in his house illuminated +from garret to cellar.</p> + +<p>As Ellen went up the stone steps she saw a woman's figure in the +room at the right, which moved to an attitude of attention when she +rang the bell.</p> + +<p>Before Ellen could inquire for Mrs. Lloyd of the maid who answered +her ring there was a shrill cry from the room on the right.</p> + +<p>“Who is it? Who is it?” demanded the voice.</p> + +<p>Then, before Ellen could speak, Mrs. Lloyd came running out.</p> + +<p>“What is it?” she said. “Tell me quick. I know +something has happened. Tell me quick. You came in Dr. James's buggy, +and the man was driving fast. Tell me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mrs. Lloyd,” said Ellen. Then she could say no +more, but the other woman knew.</p> + +<p>“Is he dead?” she asked, hoarsely.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, no, not dead.”</p> + +<p>“Hurt?”</p> + +<p>Ellen nodded, trembling.</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“He was shot.”</p> + +<p>“Who shot him?”</p> + +<p>“One of the workmen. They have him. Carl Olfsen found +him.”</p> + +<p>“One of the workmen, when he has always been so +good!”</p> + +<p>Suddenly Mrs. Lloyd seemed to gather herself together into the +strength of action.</p> + +<p>“Are they bringing him home?” she asked Ellen, in a +sharp, decisive voice.</p> + +<p>“I think they must be by this time.”</p> + +<p>“Then I've got to get ready for him. Come, quick.”</p> + +<p>There was by that time a man and two women servants standing near +them, aghast. Mrs. Lloyd turned to the man.</p> + +<p>“Go down to the drug-store and get some brandy, there isn't +any in the house,” said she; “then come back as quick as +you can. Maggie, you see that there is plenty of hot water. Martha, +you and Ellen come up-stairs with me, quick.”</p> + +<p>Ellen followed Mrs. Lloyd and the maid up-stairs, and, before she +knew what she was doing, was assisting to put the room in perfect +readiness for the wounded man. The maid was weeping all the time she +worked, although she had never liked Mr. Lloyd. There was something +about her mistress which was fairly abnormal. She kept looking at +her. This gentle, soft-natured woman had risen above her own pain and +grief to a sublime strength of misery.</p> + +<p>“Get the camphor, quick, Martha,” she said to the +maid, who flew out, with the tears streaming. Ellen stood on one side +of the bed, and Mrs. Lloyd on the other. Mrs. Lloyd had stripped off +the blankets, and was pinning the sheet tightly over the mattress. +She seemed to know instinctively what to do.</p> + +<p>“I wish you would bring that basin over here, and put it on +the stand,” said Mrs. Lloyd. “Martha, you fetch more +towels, and, Maggie, you run up garret and bring down some of those +old sheets from the trunk under the window, quick.”</p> + +<p>This maid, who was as large and as ample as her mistress, fled out +of the room with heavy, noiseless pads of flat feet.</p> + +<p>All the time Mrs. Lloyd worked she was evidently listening. She +paid no attention to Ellen except to direct her. All at once she gave +a great leap and stood still.</p> + +<p>“They're coming,” said she, though Ellen had heard +nothing. Ellen went close to her, and took her two fat, cold hands. +She could say nothing. Then she heard the roll of carriage-wheels in +the street below.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lloyd pulled her hands away from Ellen's and went to the head +of the stairs.</p> + +<p>“Bring him right up here,” she ordered, in a loud +voice.</p> + +<p>Ellen stood back, and the struggling procession with the prostrate +man in the midst labored up the broad stairs.</p> + +<p>“Bring him in here,” said Mrs. Lloyd, “and lay +him on the bed.”</p> + +<p>When Lloyd was stretched on the bed, the crowd drew back a little, +and she bent over him.</p> + +<p>Then she turned with a sort of fierceness to the doctors.</p> + +<p>“Why don't you do something?” she demanded. She raised +a hand with a repellant gesture towards the other men.</p> + +<p>“You had better go now,” said she. “I thank you +very much. If there is anything you can do, I will let you +know.”</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Lloyd was left with the two doctors and a young +assistant, Robert, and Ellen, she said, cutting her words short as if +she released every one from a mental grip:</p> + +<p>“I have got everything ready. Shall I go out now?”</p> + +<p>“I think you had better, Mrs. Lloyd,” said the family +physician, pityingly. He went close to Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Can't you stay with her a little while?” he +whispered.</p> + +<p>Ellen nodded.</p> + +<p>Then the physician spoke quite loudly and cheerfully to Mrs. +Lloyd.</p> + +<p>“We are going to probe for the ball,” he said. +“We must all hope for the best, Mrs. Lloyd.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lloyd made no reply. She bent again over her husband with a +rigid face, and kissed him on his white lips, then she went out, with +Ellen following.</p> + +<p>Norman Lloyd lived only two hours after he was shot. The efforts +to remove the ball had to be abandoned. He was conscious only a few +minutes. He suddenly began to look about him with comprehension.</p> + +<p>“Robert,” he said, in a far-away voice.</p> + +<p>Robert stooped closely over his uncle. The dying man looked up at +him with an expression which he had never worn in life.</p> + +<p>“That man was insane,” whispered he, faintly. Then he +added, “Look out for her, if she has to go through the +operation. Take care of her. Make it as easy for her as you +can.”</p> + +<p>“Then you know, Uncle Norman,” gasped Robert.</p> + +<p>“All the time, but it—pleased her to think I—did +not. Don't let her know I knew. Take care—”</p> + +<p>Then Norman Lloyd relapsed into unconsciousness, and the whole +room and the whole house became clamorous with his stertorous +breathing. Mrs. Lloyd and Ellen came and stood in the doorway. The +doctor whispered to them. Then the breathing ceased, although at +first it was inconceivable that the silence did not continue to ring +with it, and Mrs. Lloyd came into the room.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XLIII</h3> + +<p>When Mrs. Lloyd entered the room, the attention of every one was +taken from the dead man on the bed and concentrated upon the woman. +Dr. Story, a nervous, intense, elderly man with a settled frown of +perplexity over keen eyes, which he had gotten from a struggle of +forty years with unanswerable problems of life and death, stepped +towards her hastily. Robert pressed close to her side. Ellen came +behind her, holding in a curious, instinctive fashion to a fold of +the older woman's gown, as if she had been a mother holding back a +child from a sudden topple to its hurt. Everybody expected her to +make some heart-breaking manifestation. She did nothing. At that +moment the sublime unselfishness of the woman, which was her one +strength of character, seemed actually to spread itself, as with +wings, before them all. She moved steadily, close to her husband on +the bed. She gazed at that profile of rigid calmness and enforced +peace, which, although the head lay low, seemed to have an effect of +upward motion, as if it were cleaving the mystery of space. Mrs. +Lloyd laid her hand upon her husband's forehead; she felt a slight +incredulousness of death, because it was still warm. She took his +hands, drew them softly together, and folded them upon his breast. +Then she turned and faced them all with an angelic expression.</p> + +<p>“He did not realize it to suffer much?” she said.</p> + +<p>“No, Mrs. Lloyd,” replied Dr. Story, quickly. +“No, I assure you that he suffered very little.”</p> + +<p>“He seemed very happy when he died, Aunt Lizzie,” said +Robert, huskily.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lloyd looked away from them all around the room. It was a +magnificent apartment. Norman Lloyd had had an artistic taste as well +as wealth. The furnishings had always been rather beyond Mrs. Lloyd's +appreciation, but she admired them kindly. She took in every detail; +the foam of rich curtains at the great windows, the cut-glass and +silver on the dressing-table, the pale softness of a polar-bear skin +beside the bed, the lifelike insistence of the costly pictures on the +walls.</p> + +<p>“He's gone where it is a great deal more beautiful,” +she said to them, like a child. “He's gone where there's better +treasures than these which he had here.”</p> + +<p>They all looked at her in amazement. It actually seemed as if, for +the moment, the woman's sole grief was over the loss to her husband +of those things which he had on earth—the treasures of his +mortal state.</p> + +<p>Robert took hold of his aunt's arm and led her, quite unresisting, +from the room, and as she went she felt for Ellen's hand. “It +is time she was home,” she said to Robert. “Her folks +will be worried about her. She's been a real comfort to +me.”</p> + +<p>It was the first time that Ellen had ever seen death, that she had +ever seen the living confronted with it. She felt as if a wave were +breaking over her own head as she clung fast to Mrs. Lloyd's +hand.</p> + +<p>“Sha'n't I stay?” she whispered, pitifully, to her. +“If I can send word to my mother—”</p> + +<p>“No, you dear child,” replied Mrs. Lloyd, +“you've done enough, and you will have to be up early in the +morning.” Then she checked herself. “I forgot,” +said she to Robert; “the factory will be closed till after the +funeral, won't it?”</p> + +<p>“Of course it will, Aunt Lizzie.”</p> + +<p>“And the workmen will be paid just the same, of +course,” said Mrs. Lloyd. “Now, can't you take her home, +Robert?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, don't mind about me,” cried Ellen.</p> + +<p>“You can have a horse put into the buggy,” said Mrs. +Lloyd.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you mustn't leave her now,” Ellen whispered to +Robert. “Let somebody else take me—Dr. +James—”</p> + +<p>“I would rather you took her,” said Mrs. Lloyd. +“And you needn't worry about his leaving me, dear child; the +doctor will stay until he comes back.”</p> + +<p>As Robert was finally going out his aunt caught his arm and looked +at him with a radiant expression. “He will never know about +<em>me</em> now,” said she, “and it won't be long before +I— Oh, I feel as if I had gotten rid of my own +death.”</p> + +<p>She was filled with inexpressible thankfulness that she had +herself to bear what she had dreaded for her husband. “Only +think how hard it would have been for Norman,” she said to +Cynthia, the next day.</p> + +<p>Cynthia looked at her wonderingly. She could have understood this +feeling over a dearly beloved child. “You are a good woman, +Lizzie,” she said, in a tone of pitiful respect.</p> + +<p>“Not half as good a woman as he was a man,” returned +Mrs. Lloyd, jealously. “Norman wasn't a professor, I know, but +he was a believer. You don't think it is necessary to be a professor +in order to be saved, do you, Cynthia?”</p> + +<p>“I certainly do not,” Cynthia replied. “I wish +you would go and lie down, Lizzie.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I can't. I wouldn't let anybody do these things but me, +for the whole world.” Mrs. Lloyd was arranging flowers, +tuberoses and white carnations, in vases, and the whole house was +scented with them. She looked ghastly, yet still unconquerably happy. +She had now no reason to conceal the ravages of disease, and her +color was something frightful. Still, she did not suffer as much, for +her mind had overborne her body to such an extent that she had the +mastery for the time, to a certain extent, of those excruciating +stabs of pain. People looked at her incredulously. They could not +believe that she felt as she talked, that she was as happy and +resigned as she looked, but it was all true. It was either an +abnormal state into which her husband's death had thrown her, or one +too normal to be credited. She looked at it all with a supreme +childishness and simplicity. She simply believed that her husband was +in heaven, where she should join him; that he was beyond all +suffering which might have come to him through her, and all that +troubled her was the one consideration of his having been forced to +leave his treasures of earth. She looked at various things which had +been prized by the dead man, and found her chief comfort in saying to +the minister or Cynthia or Robert that Norman had loved these, but he +would have that which was infinitely more precious. She even gazed +out of the window, that Tuesday night, and saw her nephew driving +away with Ellen, and reflected, with pain, that her husband had been +fond and proud of that bay. She was a little at a loss to conceive +what could make up to her husband for that in another world, but she +succeeded, and evolved from her own loving fancy, and her +recollection of the Old Testament, a conception of some wonderful +creature, shod with thunder and maned with a whirlwind. Her disease, +and a drug she had been taking of late, stimulated her imagination to +results of grotesque pathos, but she was comforted.</p> + +<p>That night when they were alone, Robert turned to the girl at his +side with a sudden motion. It was no time for love-making, for that +was in the mind of neither of them, but the bereavement of this other +woman, and the tragedy of her state, filled him with a sort of +protective pain towards the girl who might some time have to suffer +through him the same loss.</p> + +<p>“Are you all tired out, dear?” he said, and passed his +free arm around her waist.</p> + +<p>“No,” replied Ellen. Then, since she was only a girl, +and overwrought, having been through a severe strain, she broke down, +and began to cry.</p> + +<p>Robert drew her closer, and she hid her face on his shoulder. +“Poor little girl, it has been very hard for you,” he +whispered.</p> + +<p>“Oh, don't think of me,” sobbed Ellen. “But I +can't bear it, the way she acts and looks. It is sadder than +grief.”</p> + +<p>“She is not going to live long herself, dear,” said +Robert, in a stifled voice.</p> + +<p>“And he—did not know?”</p> + +<p>“Hush! yes; but you must never tell any one. She tried to +keep it from him. That is her comfort.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said Ellen. She looked up at the white face of +the young man bending over her, and suddenly the realization of a +love that was mightier than all the creatures who came of it and all +who followed it was over her.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XLIV</h3> + +<p>When Ellen did not return, there was some alarm in the Brewster +household. Mrs. Zelotes came over, finally, in a quiver of +anxiety.</p> + +<p>“Maybe I had better start out and see if I can find +her,” said Andrew.</p> + +<p>“I think you had better,” returned his mother. +“She went before eight o'clock, and it's most midnight, and +I've set at my window watchin' ever since. I don't see what you've +been thinkin' about, waitin' all this time. I guess if I was a man I +shouldn't have waited.”</p> + +<p>“I think she may have gone in to see Abby Atkins—it's +on the way—and not realized how late it was,” said Fanny, +obstinately, but with a very white face. She drew her thread through +with a jerk. It knotted, and she broke it off viciously.</p> + +<p>“Fiddlesticks!” said her mother-in-law.</p> + +<p>“There's no use imaginin' things,” said Fanny, +angrily; “but I think myself you'd better go now, Andrew, and +see if you can see anything of her.”</p> + +<p>“I'm goin' with him,” announced Mrs. Zelotes.</p> + +<p>“Now, mother, you'd better stay where you be,” said +Andrew, putting on his hat. Then the door flew open, and Amos Lee, +who had seen the light in the windows, and was burning to impart the +news of the tragedy, rushed in.</p> + +<p>“Heard what's happened?” he cried out.</p> + +<p>They all thought of Ellen. “What?” demanded Andrew, in +a terrible voice. Fanny dropped her work and stared at him, with her +chin falling as if she were dying. Mrs. Zelotes made a queer gurgling +noise in her throat. Lee stared at them a second, bewildered by the +effect of his own words, although they had for him such a tragic +import. Andrew caught hold of him in a grasp like the clamp of a +machine. “What?” he demanded again.</p> + +<p>“The boss has been shot,” cried Lee, getting his +breath.</p> + +<p>Andrew dropped his arm, and they all stared at him. Lee went on +fluently, as if he were a fakir at a fair.</p> + +<p>“Nahum Beals did it. The boss went back to the office to get +his pocketbook; McLaughlin saw him; then he went down the stairs; +Nahum, he—he fired; he had been hidin' underneath the stairs. +Carl Olfsen caught him, and he's in jail. Your daughter she was there +when the shot came, and run up and held his head. The young boss he +sent her in Dr. James's buggy to Mrs. Lloyd to break the news. She +'ain't got home?”</p> + +<p>“No,” gasped Andrew.</p> + +<p>“The boss has been shot; he's dead by this time,” +repeated Lee. “Beals did it; they've got him.” There was +the most singular evenness and impartiality in his tone, although he +was evidently strained to a high pitch of excitement. It was +impossible to tell whether he exulted in or was aghast at the +tragedy.</p> + +<p>“Oh, that poor woman!” cried Fanny.</p> + +<p>“I'd like to know what they'll do next,” cried Mrs. +Zelotes. “I should call it pretty work.”</p> + +<p>“Nahum Beals has acted to me as if he was half crazy for +some time,” said Fanny.</p> + +<p>“No doubt about it,” said Lee; “but I shouldn't +wonder if he had to swing.”</p> + +<p>“It's dreadful,” said Fanny. “I wonder when +she's comin' home.”</p> + +<p>“Seems as if they might have got somebody besides that girl +to have gone there,” said Mrs. Zelotes.</p> + +<p>“She happened to be right on the spot,” said Lee, +importantly.</p> + +<p>Andrew seemed speechless; he leaned against the mantel-shelf, +gazing from one to the other, breathing hard. He had had bitter +feelings against the murdered man, and a curious sense of guilt was +over him. He felt almost as if he were the murderer.</p> + +<p>“Andrew, I dun'no' but you'd better go up there and see if +she's comin' home,” said Fanny; and he answered heavily that +maybe he had better, when they heard wheels, which stopped before the +house.</p> + +<p>“They're bringin' her home,” said Lee.</p> + +<p>Andrew ran and threw open the front door. He had a glimpse of +Robert's pale face, nodding to him from the buggy as he drove away, +and Ellen came hastening up the walk.</p> + +<p>“Well, Ellen, this is pretty dreadful news,” said her +father, tremulously.</p> + +<p>“So you have heard?”</p> + +<p>“Amos Lee has just come in. It's a terrible thing, +Ellen.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it's terrible,” returned Ellen, in a quick, +strained voice. She entered the sitting-room, and when she met her +mother's anxious, tender eyes, she stood back against the wall, with +her hands to her face, sobbing. Fanny ran to her, but her grandmother +was quicker. She had her arms around the girl before the mother had a +chance.</p> + +<p>“If they couldn't get somebody besides you,” she said, +in a voice of intensest love and anger, “I should call it +pretty work. Now you go straight to bed, Ellen Brewster, and I'm +goin' to make a bowl of sage tea, and bring it up, and see if it +won't quiet your nerves. I call it pretty work.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you'd better go to bed, Ellen,” said Andrew, +gulping as if he were swallowing a sob.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Zelotes fairly forced Ellen towards the door, Fanny +following.</p> + +<p>“Don't talk and wake Amabel,” whispered Ellen, forcing +back her sobs.</p> + +<p>“Was he dead when you got there, Ellen?” called out +Lee.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Zelotes turned back and looked at him. “It's after +midnight, and time for you to be goin' home,” she said. Then +the three disappeared. Lee grinned sheepishly at Andrew.</p> + +<p>“Your mother is a stepper of an old woman,” said +he.</p> + +<p>“It's awful news,” said Andrew, soberly. +“Whatever anybody may have felt, nobody +expected—”</p> + +<p>“Of course they didn't,” retorted Lee, quickly. +“Nahum went a step too far.” He started for the door as +he spoke.</p> + +<p>“Well, he was crazy, without any doubt!” said +Andrew.</p> + +<p>“He'll have to swing for it all the same,” said Lee, +going out.</p> + +<p>“It don't seem right, if he wasn't himself when he did +it.”</p> + +<p>“Lord, we're all crazy when it comes to things like +that,” returned Lee. Before closing the door he flashed his +black eyes and white teeth at Andrew, who felt repelled.</p> + +<p>He sat down beside the table and leaned his head upon it. To his +fancy all creation seemed to circle about that one dead man. Mr. +Lloyd had been for years the arbiter of his destiny, almost of his +life. Andrew had regarded him with almost feudal loyalty and +admiration, and lately with bitter revolt and hatred, and now he was +dead. He felt no sorrow, but rather a terrible remorse because he +felt no sorrow. All the bitter thoughts which he had ever had against +Lloyd seemed to marshal themselves before him like an accusing legion +of ghosts. And with it all there was a sense of desolation, as if +some force which had been necessary to his full living had gone out +of creation.</p> + +<p>“It's over thirty years since I went to work under +him,” Andrew thought, and he gave a dry sob. At that moment a +wonderful pity and sorrow for the dead man seemed to spring up in his +soul like a light. He felt as if he loved him.</p> + +<p><br>Norman Lloyd's funeral was held in the First Baptist Church of +Rowe. It was crowded. Mr. Lloyd had been the most prominent +manufacturer and the wealthiest man in the city. His employés +filled up a great space in the body of the church.</p> + +<p>Andrew went with his mother and wife. They arrived quite early. +When Andrew saw the employés of Lloyd's marching in, he drew a +great sigh. He looked at the solemn black thing raised on trestles +before the pulpit with an emotion which he could not himself +understand. “That man 'ain't treated me well enough for me to +care anything about him,” he kept urging upon himself. +“He never paid any more attention to me than a gravel-stone +under his feet; there ain't any reason why I should have cared about +him, and I don't; it can't be that I do.” Yet arguing with +himself in this way, he continued to eye the casket which held his +dead employer with an unyielding grief.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Zelotes sat like a black, draped statue at the head of the +pew, but her eyes behind her black veil were sharply observant. She +missed not one detail. She saw everything; she counted the wreaths +and bouquets on the casket, and stored in her mind, as vividly as she +might have done some old mourning-piece, the picture of the near +relatives advancing up the aisle.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lloyd came leaning on her nephew's arm, and there were +Cynthia Lennox and a distant cousin, an elderly widow who had been +summoned to the house of death.</p> + +<p>Ellen sat in the body of the church, with the employés of +Lloyd's, between Abby Atkins and Maria. She glanced up when the +little company of mourners entered, then cast her eyes down again and +compressed her lips. Maria began to weep softly, pressing her +handkerchief to her eyes. Ellen's mother had begged her not to sit +with the employés, but with her and her father and grandmother +in their own pew, but the girl had refused.</p> + +<p>“I must sit where I belong,” said she.</p> + +<p>“Maybe she thinks it would look as if she was putting on +airs on account of—” Fanny said to Andrew when Ellen had +gone out.</p> + +<p>“I guess she's right,” returned Andrew.</p> + +<p>The employés had contributed money for a great floral piece +composed of laurel and white roses, in the shape of a pillow. Mamie +Brady, who sat behind Ellen, leaned over, and in a whisper whistled +into her ear.</p> + +<p>“Ain't it handsome?” said she. “Can you see them +flowers from the hands?”</p> + +<p>Ellen nodded impatiently. The great green and white decoration was +in plain view from her seat, and as she looked at it she wondered if +it were a sarcasm or poetic truth beyond the scope of the givers, the +pillow of laurel and roses, emblematic of eternal peace, presented by +the hard hands of labor to dead capital.</p> + +<p>Of course the tragic circumstances of Norman Lloyd's death +increased the curiosity of the public. Gradually the church became +crowded by a slow and solemn pressure. The aisles were filled. The +air was heavy with the funeral flowers. The minister spoke at length, +descanting upon the character of the deceased, his uprightness and +strict integrity in business, avoiding pitfalls of admissions of +weaknesses with the expertness of a juggler. He was always regarded +as very apt at funerals, never saying too much and never too little. +The church was very still, the whole audience wrapped in a solemn +hush, until the minister began to pray; then there was a general +bending of heads and devout screening of faces with hands. Then all +at once a sob from a woman sounded from the rear of the church. It +was hysterical, and had burst from the restraint of the weeper. +People turned about furtively.</p> + +<p>“Who was that?” whispered Mamie Brady, after a +prolonged stare over her shoulders from under her red frizzle of +hair. “It ain't any of the mourners.”</p> + +<p>Ellen shook her head.</p> + +<p>“Do keep still, Mamie Brady,” whispered Abby +Atkins.</p> + +<p>The sob came again, and this time it was echoed from the pew where +sat the members of the dead man's family. Mrs. Lloyd began weeping +convulsively. Her state of mind had raised her above natural emotion, +and yet her nerves weakly yielded to it when given such an impetus. +She wept like a child, and now and then a low murmur of heart-broken +complaint came from her lips, and was heard distinctly over the +church. Other women began to weep. The minister prayed, and his words +of comfort seemed like the air in a discordant medley of sorrow.</p> + +<p>Andrew Brewster's face twitched; he held his hands clutched +tightly. Fanny was weeping, but the old woman at the head of the pew +sat immovable.</p> + +<p>When the services were over, and the great concourse of people had +passed around the casket and viewed the face of the dead, with keen, +sidewise observation of the funeral flowers, Mrs. Zelotes pressed out +as fast as she was able without seeming to crowd, and caught up with +Mrs. Pointdexter, who had sat in the rear of the church.</p> + +<p>She came alongside as they left the church, and the two old women +moved slowly down the sidewalk, with lingering glances at the funeral +procession drawn up in front of the church.</p> + +<p>“Who was that cryin' so in back; did you see?” asked +Mrs. Zelotes of Mrs. Pointdexter, whose eyes were red, and whose face +bore an expression of meek endurance of a renewal of her own +experience of sorrow.</p> + +<p>“It was Joe Martin's wife,” said she. “I sat +just behind her.”</p> + +<p>“What made her?”</p> + +<p>Then both started, for the woman who had sobbed came up behind +them, her brother, an elderly man, trying to hold her back.</p> + +<p>“You stop, John,” she cried. “I heard what she +said, and I'm goin' to tell her. I'm goin' to tell everybody. Nobody +shall stop me. There the minister spoke and spoke and spoke, and he +never said a word as to any good he'd done. I'm goin' to tell. I +wanted to stan' right up in the church an' tell everybody. He told me +not to say a word about it, an' I never did whilst he was livin', but +now I'm goin' to stan' up for the dead.” The woman pulled +herself loose from her brother, who stood behind her, frightened, and +continually thrusting out a black-gloved hand of remonstrance. People +began to gather. The woman, who was quite old, had a face graven with +hard lines of habitual restraint, which was now, from its utter +abandon, at once pathetic and terrible. She made a motion as if she +were thrusting her own self into the background.</p> + +<p>“I'm goin' to speak,” she said, in a high voice. +“I held my tongue for the livin', but I'm goin' to speak for +the dead. My poor husband died twenty years ago, got his hand cut in +a machine in Lloyd's, and had lockjaw, and I was left with my +daughter that had spinal disease, and my little boy that died, and my +own health none too good, and—and he—he—came to my +house, one night after the funeral, and—and told me he was +goin' to look out for me, and he has, he has. That blessed man gave +me five dollars every week of my life, and he buried poor Annie when +she died, and my little boy, and he made me promise never to say a +word about it. Five dollars every week of my life—five +dollars.”</p> + +<p>The woman's voice ended in a long-drawn, hysterical wail. The +other women who had been listening began to weep. Mrs. Pointdexter, +when she and Mrs. Zelotes moved on, was sobbing softly, but Mrs. +Zelotes's face, though moved, wore an expression of stern +conjecture.</p> + +<p>“I'd like to know how many things like that Norman Lloyd +did,” said she. “I never supposed he was that kind of a +man.”</p> + +<p>She had a bewildered feeling, as if she had to reconstruct her own +idea of the dead man as a monument to his memory, and reconstruction +was never an easy task for the old woman.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XLV</h3> + +<p>A Short time after Norman Lloyd's death, Ellen, when she had +reached the factory one morning, met a stream of returning workmen. +They swung along, and on their faces were expressions of mingled +solemnity and exultation, as of children let out to play because of +sorrow in the house, which will not brook the jarring inconsequence +of youth.</p> + +<p>Mamie Brady, walking beside a young man as red-haired as herself, +called out, with ill-repressed glee, “Turn round, Ellen +Brewster; there ain't no shop to-day.”</p> + +<p>The young man at her side, nervously meagre, looked at Ellen with +a humorous contortion of this thin face, then he caught Mamie Brady +by the arm, and swung her into a hopity-skip down the sidewalk. Just +behind them came Granville Joy, with another man. Ellen stopped. +“What is it?” she said to him. “Why is the shop +closed?”</p> + +<p>Granville stopped, and let the stream of workmen pass him and +Ellen. They stood in the midst of it, separating it, as rock will +separate a current. “Mrs. Lloyd is dead,” Granville +replied, soberly.</p> + +<p>“I heard she was very low last night,” Ellen returned, +in a hushed voice.</p> + +<p>Then she passed Granville, who stood a second gazing wistfully +after her, before he resumed his homeward way. He told himself quite +accurately that she had purposely refrained from turning, in order to +avoid walking with himself. A certain resentment seized him. It +seemed to him that something besides his love had been slighted. +“She needn't have thought I was going to make love to her going +home in broad daylight with all these folks,” he reflected, and +he threw up his head impatiently.</p> + +<p>The man with whom he had been walking when Ellen appeared lingered +for him to rejoin him. “Wonder how many shops they'd shut up +for you and me,” said the man, with a sort of humorous +bitterness. He had a broad face, seemingly fixed in an eternal mask +of laughter, and yet there were hard lines in it, and a forehead of +relentless judgment overhung his wide bow of mouth and his squat and +wrinkled nose.</p> + +<p>“Guess not many,” replied Granville, echoing the man +in a way unusual to him.</p> + +<p>“And yet if it wa'n't for us they couldn't keep the shop +running at all,” said the man, whose name was Tom Peel.</p> + +<p>“That's so,” said Granville, with a slight glance over +his shoulder.</p> + +<p>Ellen had met the Atkins girls, and had turned, and was coming +back with them. It was as he had thought.</p> + +<p>“If the new boss cuts down fifteen per cent., as the talk +is, what be you goin' to do?” asked Tom Peel.</p> + +<p>“I ain't goin' to stand it,” replied Granville, +fiercely.</p> + +<p>“Ain't goin' to be swept clean by the new broom, hey?” +said the man, with a widened grin.</p> + +<p>“No!” thundered Granville—“not by him, nor +any one like him. Damn him!”</p> + +<p>Tom Peel's grin widened still further into an intense but silent +laugh.</p> + +<p>Meantime Ellen was walking with Abby and Maria.</p> + +<p>“I wonder how we're going to get along with young +Lloyd,” said Abby.</p> + +<p>Ellen looked at her keenly. “Why?” she said.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I heard the men talking the other night after I'd gone +to bed. Maybe it isn't true that he's thinking of cutting down the +wages.”</p> + +<p>“It can't be,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>“I say so, too,” said Maria.</p> + +<p>“Well, I hope not,” said Abby. “You can't tell. +Some chimneys always have the wind whistling in them, and I suppose +it's about so with a boot and shoe shop. It don't follow that there's +going to be a hurricane.”</p> + +<p>They had come to the entrance of the street where the Atkins +sisters lived, and Ellen parted from them.</p> + +<p>She kept on her way quite alone. They had walked slowly, and the +other operatives had either boarded cars or had gone out of +sight.</p> + +<p>Ellen, when she turned, faced the northwest, out of which a stiff +wind was blowing. She thrust a hand up each jacket-sleeve, folding +her arms, but she let the fierce wind smite her full in the face +without blenching. She had a sort of delight in facing a wind like +that, and her quick young blood kept her from being chilled. The +sidewalk was frozen. There was no snow, and the day before there had +been a thaw. One could see on this walk, hardened into temporary +stability, the footprints of hundreds of the sons and daughters of +labor. Read rightly, that sidewalk in the little manufacturing city +was a hieroglyphic of toil, and perhaps of toil as tending to the +advance of the whole world. Ellen did not think of that, for she was +occupied with more personal considerations, thinking of the dead +woman in the great Lloyd house. She pictured her lying dead on that +same bed whereon she had seen her husband lie dead. All the ghastly +concomitants of death came to her mind. “They will turn off all +that summer heat, and leave her alone in this freezing cold,” +she thought. She remembered the sound of that other woman's kind +voice in her ears, and she saw her face when she told her the +dreadful news of her husband's death. She felt a sob rising in her +throat, but forced it back. What Abby had told concerning Mrs. +Lloyd's happiness in the face of death seemed to her heart-breaking, +though she knew not why. That enormous, almost transcendent trust in +that which was absolutely unknown seemed to engulf her.</p> + +<p>When she reached home, her mother looked at her in astonishment. +She was sewing on the interminable wrappers. Andrew was paring apples +for pies. “What be you home for—be you sick?” asked +Fanny. Andrew gazed at her in alarm.</p> + +<p>“No, I am not sick,” replied Ellen, shortly. +“Mrs. Lloyd is dead, and the factory's closed.”</p> + +<p>“I heard she was very low—Mrs. Jones told me so +yesterday,” said Fanny, in a hushed voice. Andrew began paring +another apple. He was quite pale.</p> + +<p>“When is the funeral to be, did you hear?” asked +Fanny. Ellen was hanging up her hat and coat in the entry.</p> + +<p>“Day after to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“Have you heard anything about the hands sending +flowers?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose they will,” said Fanny, “as long as +they sent one to him. Well, she was a good woman, and it's a mark of +respect, and I 'ain't anything to say against it, but I can't help +feeling as if it was a tax.”</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XLVI</h3> + +<p>It was some time after Mrs. Lloyd's death. Ellen had not seen +Robert except as she had caught from time to time a passing glimpse +of him in the factory. One night she overheard her father and mother +talking about him after she had gone to bed, the sitting-room door +having been left ajar.</p> + +<p>“I thought he'd come and call after his aunt died,” +she heard Fanny say. “I've always thought he liked Ellen, an' +here he is now, with all that big factory, an' plenty of +money.”</p> + +<p>“Mebbe he will,” replied Andrew, with a voice in which +were conflicting emotions, pride and sadness, and a struggle for +self-renunciation.</p> + +<p>“It would be a splendid thing for her,” said +Fanny.</p> + +<p>“It would be a splendid thing for <em>him</em>,” +returned Andrew, with a flash.</p> + +<p>“Land, of course it would! You needn't be so smart, Andrew +Brewster. I guess I know what Ellen is, as well as you. Any man might +be proud to get her—I don't care who—whether he's Robert +Lloyd, or who, but that don't alter what I say. It would be a +splendid chance for Ellen. Only think of that great Lloyd house, and +it must be full of beautiful things—table linen, and silver, +and what-not. I say it would be a splendid thing for her, and she'd +be above want all her life—that's something to be considered +when we 'ain't got any more than we have to leave her, and she +workin' the way she is.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that's so,” assented Andrew, with a heavy sigh, +as of one who looks upon life from under the mortification of an +incubus of fate.</p> + +<p>“We'd ought to think of her best good,” said Fanny, +judiciously. “I've been thinkin' every evening lately that he'd +be comin'. I've had the fire in the parlor stove all ready to touch +off, an' I've kept dusted in there. I know he liked her, but mebbe +he's like all the rest of the big-bugs.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” asked Andrew, with an inward qualm +of repulsion. He always hated unspeakably to hear his wife say +“big-bugs” in that tone. Although he was far from being +without humility, he was republican to the core in his estimate of +his own status in his own free country. In his heart, as long as he +kept the law of God and man, he recognized no “big-bugs.” + It was one of the taints of his wife's ancestry which grated upon +him from time to time.</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, mebbe he don't want to be seen callin' on a +shop-girl.”</p> + +<p>“Then he'd better keep away, that's all!” cried +Andrew, furiously.</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, mebbe it ain't so,” said Fanny. “He's +always seemed to me like a sensible feller, and I know he's liked +Ellen, an' lots of girls that work in shops marry rich. Look at Annie +Graves, married that factory boss over to Pemberton, an' has +everythin'. She'd worked in his factory years. Mebbe it ain't +that.”</p> + +<p>“Ellen don't act as if she minded anything about his not +comin',” said Andrew, anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Land, no; she ain't that kind. She's too much like her +grandmother, but there 'ain't been a night lately that she 'ain't +done her hair over when she got home from the shop and changed her +dress.”</p> + +<p>“She always changes her dress, don't she?” said +Andrew.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, she always has done that. I guess she likes to get +rid of the leather smell for a while; but she has put on that pretty, +new, red silk waist, and I've seen her watchin', though she's never +said anything.”</p> + +<p>“You don't suppose she—” began Andrew, in a +voice of intensest anxiety and indignant tenderness.</p> + +<p>“Land, no; Ellen Brewster ain't a girl to fret herself much +over any man unless she's sure he wants her; trust her. Don't you +worry about that. All I mean is, I know she's had a kind of an idea +that he might come.”</p> + +<p>Ellen, up-stairs, lay listening against her will, and felt herself +burning with mortified pride and shame. She said to herself that she +would never put on that red silk waist again of an evening; she would +not even do her hair over. It was quite true that she had thought +that Robert might come, that he might renew his offer, now that he +was so differently situated, and the obstacles, on his side, at +least, removed. She told herself all the time that the obstacles on +her own were still far from removed. She asked herself how could she, +even if this man loved her and wished to marry her, allow him to +support all her family, although he might be able to do so. She often +told herself that she ought perhaps to have pride enough to refuse, +and yet she watched for him to come. She had reflected at first that +it was, of course, impossible for him to seem to take advantage of +the deaths which had left him with this independence, that he must +stay away for a while from motives of delicacy; but now the months +were going, and she began to wonder if he never would come. Every +night, when she took off the pretty, red silk waist, donned in vain, +and let down her fair lengths of hair, it was with a sinking of her +heart, and a sense of incredulous unhappiness. Ellen had always had a +sort of sanguinity of happiness and of the petting of Providence as +well as of her friends. However, the girl had, in spite of her +childlike trust in the beauty of her life, plenty of strength to meet +its refutal, and a pride equal to her grandmother's. In case Robert +Lloyd should never approach her again, she would try to keep one face +of her soul always veiled to her inmost consciousness.</p> + +<p>The next evening she was careful not to put on her red silk waist, +but changed her shop dress for her old blue woollen, and only +smoothed her hair. She even went to bed early in order to prove to +her mother that she expected nobody.</p> + +<p>“You ain't goin' to bed as early as this, Ellen?” her +mother said, as she lighted her lamp.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I'm going to bed and read.”</p> + +<p>“Seems as if somebody might be in,” said Fanny, +awkwardly.</p> + +<p>“I don't know who,” Ellen returned, with a gentle +haughtiness.</p> + +<p>Andrew colored. He was at his usual task of paring apples. Andrew, +in lieu of regular work outside, assisted in these household tasks, +that his wife might have more time to sew. He looked unusually worn +and old that night.</p> + +<p>“If anybody does come, Ellen will have to get up, that's +all,” said Fanny, when the girl had gone up-stairs. Then she +pricked up her ears, for the electric-car had stopped before the +house. Then it went on, with a sharp clang of the bell and a +gathering rush of motion.</p> + +<p>“That car stopped,” Fanny said, breathlessly, her work +falling from her fingers. Andrew and she both listened intently, then +footsteps were heard plainly coming around the path at the side of +the house.</p> + +<p>Fanny's face fell. “It's only some of the men,” said +she, in a low voice. Then there came a knock on the side door, and +Andrew ushered in John Sargent, Joe Atkins, and Amos Lee. Nahum Beals +did not come in those days, for he was in prison awaiting trial for +the murder of Norman Lloyd. However, Amos Lee's note was as +impressive as his. He called often with Sargent and Atkins. They +could not shake him off. He lay in wait for them at street corners, +and joined them. He never saw Ellen alone, and did not openly +proclaim his calls as meant for her. She prevented him from doing +that in a manner which he could not withstand, full of hot and +reckless daring as he was. When he entered that night he looked +around with keen furtiveness, and was evidently listening and +watching for her, though presently his voice rose high in discussion +with the others. After a while the man who lived next door dropped +in, and his wife with him. She and Fanny withdrew to the dining-room +with their sewing—for the woman also worked on +wrappers—and left the sitting-room to the men.</p> + +<p>“It beats all how they like to talk,” said the woman, +with a large-minded leniency, “and they never get +anywhere,” she added. “They work themselves all up, and +never get anywhere; but men are all like that.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, they be,” assented Fanny.</p> + +<p>“Jest hear that Lee feller,” said the woman.</p> + +<p>Amos Lee's voice was audible over the little house, and could have +been heard in the yard, for it had an enormous carrying quality. It +was the voice of a public ranter. Ellen, up in her chamber, lying in +her bed, with a lamp at her side, reading, closely covered from the +cold—for the room was unheated—heard him with a shiver of +disgust and repulsion, and yet with a fierce sympathy and loyalty. +She could not distinguish every word he said, but she knew well what +he was talking about.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lloyd's death had made a certain hush in the ferment of +revolt at Lloyd's, but now it was again on the move. There was a +strong feeling of dislike to young Lloyd among the workmen. His uncle +had heaped up ill-feeling as well as wealth as a heritage for him. +The older Lloyd had never been popular, and Robert had succeeded to +all his unpopularity, and was fast gathering his own. He was +undoubtedly disposed to follow largely his uncle's business methods. +He had admired them, they had proved successful, and he had honestly +seen nothing culpable in them as business methods go; so it was not +strange that he tried to copy them when he came into charge of +Lloyd's. He was inclined to meet opposition with the same cool +inflexibility of persistency in his own views, and was disposed to +consult his own interests and carry out his own plans with no more +brooking of interference than the skipper of a man-o'-war. Therefore, +when it happened, shortly after his aunt's death, that he conceived a +dissatisfaction with some prominent spirits among union men, he +discharged them without the slightest reference to the fact that they +were old and skilful workmen, and employed non-union men from another +town in their places. He had, indeed, the object of making in time +his factory entirely non-union. He said to himself that he would be +dictated to by no labor organization under the sun, and that went a +step beyond his uncle, inasmuch as the elder Lloyd had always made +his own opinion subservient to good business policy; but Robert was +younger and his blood hotter. It happened, also, a month later, when +he began to see that business had fallen off considerably (indeed, it +was the beginning of a period of extreme business depression), and +that he could no longer continue on the same scale with the same +profits, that instead of assembling the men in different departments, +communicating the situation to them, and submitting them a reduced +price-list for consideration, as was the custom with the more pacific +of the manufacturers in the vicinity, he posted it up in the +different rooms with no ado whatever. That had been his uncle's +method, but never in the face of such brewing discontent as was +prevalent in Lloyd's at that time. It was an occasion when the older +man would have shut down, but Robert had, along with his arbitrary +impetuosity, a real dislike to shut down on account of the men, for +which they would have been the last to give him credit. “Poor +devils,” he told himself, standing in the office window one +night, and seeing them pour out and disappear into the early darkness +beyond the radius of the electric-lights, “I can't turn them +adrift without a dollar in midwinter. I'll try to run the factory a +while longer on a reduced scale, if I only meet expenses.”</p> + +<p>He saw Ellen going out, descending the steps with the Atkins +girls, and as she passed the light, her fair head shone out for a +second like an aureole. A great wave of tenderness came over him. He +reflected that it would make no difference to her, that it was only a +question of time before he lifted her forever out of the ranks of +toil. The impulse was strong upon him to go to see her that night, +but he had set himself to wait three months after his aunt's death, +and the time was not yet up. He had a feeling that he might seem to +be, and possibly would be, taking advantage of his bereavement if he +went sooner, and that Ellen herself might think so.</p> + +<p>It was that very night that Ellen had gone to bed early, to prove +not only to her mother but to herself that she did not expect him, +and the men came to see Andrew. Once she heard Amos Lee's voice +raised to a higher pitch than ever, and distinguished every word.</p> + +<p>“I tell you he's goin' to cut the wages to-morrow,” +said he.</p> + +<p>There was a low rumble of response, which Ellen could not +understand, but Lee's answer made it evident.</p> + +<p>“How do I know?” he thundered. “It is in the +air. He don't tell any more than his uncle did; but you wait and see, +that's all.”</p> + +<p>“I don't believe it,” the girl up-stairs said to +herself, indignantly and loyally. “He can't cut the wages of +all those poor men, he with all his uncle's money.”</p> + +<p>But the next morning the reduced price-list was posted on the +walls of the different rooms in Lloyd's.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XLVII</h3> + +<p>There was a driving snow-storm the next day. When Ellen started +for the factory the white twilight of early morning still lingered. +Everywhere were the sons and daughters of toil plodding laboriously +and noiselessly through the snow, each keeping in the track of the +one who went before. There was no wind blowing, and the snow was in a +blue-white level; the trees bent stiffly and quietly beneath a heavy +shag of white, and now and then came a clamor of birds, which served +to accentuate the silence and peace. Ellen could always be forced by +an extreme phase of nature to forgetfulness of her own stresses. For +the time being she forgot everything; her vain watching for Robert, +the talk of trouble in the factory, the disappointment in her +home—all were forgotten in the contemplation, or rather in the +absorbing, of this new-old wonder of snow.</p> + +<p>There was a survival of the old Greek spirit in the girl, and had +she come to earth without her background of orthodox traditions, she +might have easily found her own deities in nature. The peace of the +snow enveloped her soul as well as the earth, and she became a +beneficiary of the white storm; the graceful droop of the pine boughs +extended to her thoughts, and the clamor of the birds aroused in her +a winged freedom, so that she felt at once peace and a sort of +ecstasy. She walked in the track of a stolidly plodding man before +her, as different a person as if she were an inhabitant of another +planet. He was digesting the soggy, sweet griddle-cakes which he had +eaten for breakfast, and revolving in his mind two errands for his +wife—one, a pail of lard; the other, three yards of black dress +braid; he was considering the surface scum of existence, that which +pertained solely to his own petty share of it; the girl, the clear +residue of life which was, and had been, and would be. Each was on +the way to humble labor for daily bread, but with a difference of +eternity between them.</p> + +<p>But when Ellen reached the end of the cross street where the +Atkins girls lived, she heard a sound which dispelled her rapt state. +Her far vision became a near one; she saw, as it were, the clouded +window-glass between her mortal eyes and the beyond, and the sound of +a cough brought it about. Abby and Maria were coming towards her +through the snow. Maria was coughing violently, and Abby was scolding +her.</p> + +<p>“I don't care anything about it, Maria Atkins,” Abby +was saying, “you ought to be ashamed of yourself coming out +such a morning as this. There isn't any sense in it. You know you'll +catch cold, and then there'll be two of you to take care of. You +don't help a mite doing so, you needn't think you do.”</p> + +<p>When Abby caught sight of Ellen she hastened forward, while Maria, +still coughing, trailed behind, lifting her little, heavy, snow-bound +feet wearily.</p> + +<p>“Ellen, I wish you'd tell Maria to turn around and go +home,” she said. “Just hear her cough, and out in all +this snow, and getting her skirts draggled. She hasn't got +common-sense, you tell her so.”</p> + +<p>Ellen stopped, nodding assentingly. “I think she's right, +Maria,” she said. “You ought not to be out such a morning +as this. You had better go home.”</p> + +<p>Maria came up smiling, though her lips were quite white, and she +controlled her cough to convulsive motions of her chest.</p> + +<p>“I am no worse than usual,” said she. “I feel +better than I generally do in the morning. I haven't coughed any +more, if I have as much, and I am holding my dress up high, and you +know how warm the factory is. It will be enough sight warmer than it +is at home. It is cold at home.”</p> + +<p>“Lloyd don't have to save coal,” said Abby, bitterly, +“but that don't alter the fact of your getting your skirts +draggled.”</p> + +<p>Maria pulled up her skirts so high that she exposed her slender +ankles, then seeing that she had done so, she let them fall with a +quick glance at two men behind them.</p> + +<p>“The snow will shake right off; it's light, Abby,” she +said.</p> + +<p>“It ain't light. I should think you might listen to Ellen, +if you won't to me.”</p> + +<p>Ellen pressed close to Maria, and pulled her thin arm through her +own. “Look here,” she said, “don't you +think—”</p> + +<p>Then Maria burst out with a pitiful emphasis. “I've got to +go,” she said. “Father had a bad spell last night; he +can't get out. He'll lose his place this time, we are afraid, and +there's a note coming due that father says he's paid, but the man +didn't give it up, and he's got to pay it over again; the lawyer says +there is no other way, and we can't let John Sargent do everything. +He's got a sister out West he's about supporting since her husband +died last fall. I've got to go to work; we've got to have the money, +Ellen, and as for my cough, I have always coughed. It hasn't killed +me yet, and I guess it won't yet for a while.” Maria said the +last with a reckless gayety which was unusual to her.</p> + +<p>Abby trudged on ahead with indignant emphasis. “I'd like to +know what good it is going to do to work and earn and pay up money if +everybody is going to be killed by it?” she said, without +turning her head.</p> + +<p>Ellen pulled up Maria's coat-collar around her neck and put an +extra fold of her dress-skirt into her hand.</p> + +<p>“There, you can hold it up as high as that, it looks all +right,” said she.</p> + +<p>“I wish Robert Lloyd had to get up at six o'clock and trudge +a mile in this snow to his work,” said Abby, with sudden +viciousness. “He'll be driven down in his Russian sleigh by a +man looking like a drum-major, and cut our poor little wages, and +that's all he cares. Who's earning the money, he or us, I'd like to +know? I hate the rich!”</p> + +<p>“If it's true, what you say,” said Maria, “it +seems to me it's like hating those you have given things to, and +that's worse than hating your enemies.”</p> + +<p>“Don't say given, say been forced to hand over,” +retorted Abby, fiercely; “and don't preach, Maria Atkins, I +hate preaching; and do have sense enough not to talk when you are out +in this awful storm. You can keep your mouth shut, if you can't do +anything else!”</p> + +<p>Ellen had turned quite white at Abby's words.</p> + +<p>“You don't think that he means to cut the wages?” she +said, eagerly.</p> + +<p>“I know he does. I had it straight. Wait till you get to the +shop.”</p> + +<p>“I don't believe it.”</p> + +<p>“You wait. Norman Lloyd was as hard as nails, and the young +one is just like him.” Abby looked relentlessly at Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Maybe it isn't so,” whispered Maria to Ellen.</p> + +<p>“I don't believe it is,” responded Ellen, but Abby +heard them, and turned with a vicious jerk.</p> + +<p>“Well, you wait!” said she.</p> + +<p>The moment Ellen reached the factory she realized that something +unwonted had happened. There were groups of men, talking, oblivious +even of the blinding storm, which was coming in the last few minutes +with renewed fury, falling in heavy sheets like dank shrouds.</p> + +<p>Ellen saw one man in a muttering group throw out an arm, whitened +like a branch of a tree, and shake a rasped, red fist at the splendid +Russian sleigh of the Lloyd's, which was just gliding out of sight +with a flurry of bells and a swing of fur tails, the whole surmounted +by the great fur hat of the coachman. Abby turned and looked fiercely +at Ellen.</p> + +<p>“What did I tell you?” she cried.</p> + +<p>Even then Ellen would not believe. She caught a glimpse of +Robert's fair head at the office window, and a great impulse of love +and loyalty came over her.</p> + +<p>“I don't believe it,” she said aloud to Maria. Maria +held her arm tightly.</p> + +<p>“Maybe it isn't so,” she said.</p> + +<p>But when they entered the room where they worked, there was a +sullen group before a placard tacked on the wall. Ellen pressed +closely, and saw what it was—a reduced wage-list. Then she went +to her machine.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XLVIII</h3> + +<p>Ellen had a judicial turn of mind, as her school-master had once +said of her. She was able to look at matters from more than one +stand-point, but she reasoned with a New Testament clearness of +impartiality. She was capable of uncompromising severity, since she +brought such a clear light of youth and childhood to bear upon even +those things which needed shadows for their true revelation. +Everything was for her either black or white. She had not lived long +enough, perhaps she never would, for a comprehension of half-tones. +The situation to her mind was perfectly simple, and she viewed it +with a candor which was at once terrible and cruel, for it involved +cruelty not only to Robert but to herself. She said to herself, here +was this rich man, this man with accumulation of wealth, not one +dollar of which he had earned himself, either by his hands or his +brains, but which had been heaped up for his uncle by the heart and +back breaking toil of all these poor men and women; and now he was +going to abuse his power of capital, his power to take the bread out +of their mouths entirely, by taking it out in part. He was going to +reduce their wages, he was deliberately going to cause privation, and +even suffering where there were large families. She felt the most +unqualified dissent and indignation, and all the love which she had +for the man only intensified it. Love, with a girl like this, tended +to clearness of vision instead of blindness. She judged him as she +would have judged herself. As she stood working at her machine, +stitching linings to vamps, she kept a sharply listening ear for what +went on about her, but there was very little to hear after work had +fairly commenced and the great place was in full hum. The demand of +labor was so imperative that the laborers themselves were merged in +it; they ceased to be for the time, and, instead of living, they +became parts of the struggle for life. A man hustling as if the world +were at stake to get his part of a shoe finished as soon as another +man, so as not to clog and balk the whole system, had no time for +rebellion. He was in the whirlpool which was mightier than himself +and his revolt. After all, a man is a small and helpless factor +before his own needs. For a time those whirring machines, which had +been evolved in the first place from the brains of men, and partook +in a manner of both the spirit and the grosser elements of existence, +its higher qualities and its sordid mechanism, like man himself, had +the best of it. The swart arms of the workmen flew at their appointed +tasks, they fed those unsatisfied maws, the factory vibrated with the +heavy thud of the cutting-machines like a pulse, the racks with shoes +in different stages of completion trundled from one department to +another, propelled by men with tense arms and doggedly bent +heads.</p> + +<p>Ellen worked with the rest, but she was one of the few whose brain +could travel faster than her hands. She thought as she worked, for +her muscles did not retard her mind. She was composed of two motions, +one within the other, and the central motion was so swift that it +seemed still.</p> + +<p>Ed Flynn came down the room and bent over her.</p> + +<p>“Good-morning,” he said. He was too gayly confident to +be entirely respectful, but he had always a timidity of bearing which +sat oddly upon him before Ellen. He looked half boldly, half +wistfully at her fair face, and challenged her with gay eyes, which +had in their depths a covert seriousness.</p> + +<p>Ellen stood between Abby Atkins and Sadie Peel at her work. Sadie +Peel turned on the foreman coquettishly and said, “You'd better +go an' talk to Mamie Brady, she's got on a new blue bow on her red +hair. Why don't you give her some better work than tying those old +shoes? Here she's been workin' in this shop two years. You needn't +come shinin' round Ellen an' me! We don't want you.”</p> + +<p>Flynn colored angrily and shot a vicious glance at the girl.</p> + +<p>“It's a pretty hard storm,” he said to Ellen, as if +the other girl had not spoken.</p> + +<p>“You needn't pretend you don't hear me, Ed Flynn,” +called out the girl. Her cheap finery was in full force that morning, +not a lock of her brown hair was unstudied in its arrangement, and +she was as conscious of her pose before her machine as if she had +been on the stage. She knew just how her slender waist and the +graceful slope of her shoulders appeared to the foreman, and her +voice, in spite of its gay rallying and audacity, was wheedling.</p> + +<p>Flynn caught hold of her shoulders, round and graceful under her +flannel blouse, and shook her, half in anger, half in weakness.</p> + +<p>“You shut up, you witch,” said he. Then he turned to +Ellen again, and his whole manner and expression changed.</p> + +<p>“I'm sorry about that new list,” he said, very low, in +her ear. Ellen never looked at him, and did not make a motion as if +she heard.</p> + +<p>“It's a hard storm,” the foreman said again, almost +appealingly.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is very hard,” replied Ellen, slipping +another shoe under the needles.</p> + +<p>“What on earth ails you this morning, Ellen Brewster?” +Sadie Peel said to her, when the foreman had gone. “You look +queer and act queer.”</p> + +<p>“Ellen ain't in the habit of joking with Ed Flynn,” +said Abby Atkins, on the other side, with sarcastic emphasis.</p> + +<p>“My, don't you feel big!” sneered Sadie Peel. There +was always a jarring inconsequence about this girl, she was so +delicately pretty and refined in appearance, her ribbons were so +profuse and cheap, and her manners were so recklessly coarse.</p> + +<p>Ellen said nothing, but worked steadily.</p> + +<p>“Mame Brady's just gone on Ed Flynn, and he goes with her +just enough to keep her hangin', and I don't believe he means to +marry her, and I think it's mean,” said Sadie Peel.</p> + +<p>“She ought to have more sense than to take any stock in +him,” said Abby.</p> + +<p>“She ain't the only one,” said Sadie. “Nellie +Stone in the office has been daft over him since she's been there, +and he don't look at her. I don't see what there is about Ed Flynn, +for my part.”</p> + +<p>“I don't,” said Abby, dryly.</p> + +<p>“Well, I don't know. He's pretty good-looking,” said +Sadie Peel, “and he's got a sort of a way with him.” All +the time the girl was talking her heart was aching. The foreman had +paid her some little attention, which she had taken seriously, but +nobody except her father had known it, or known when he had fallen +off. Sometimes Flynn, meeting the father's gaze as he passed him at +his work at the cutting-bench, used to waver involuntarily, though he +asked himself with perfect good faith what was it all about, for he +had done the girl no harm. He felt more guilty concerning Mamie +Brady.</p> + +<p>Ellen worked on, with her fingers flying and her forehead tense +with thought. The chatter of the girls ceased. They were too busy to +keep it up. The hum of work continued. Once Ellen knew, although she +did not see him, by some subtle disturbance of the atmosphere, a +little commotion which was perfectly silent, that Robert Lloyd had +entered the room. She knew when he passed her, and she worked more +swiftly than ever. After he had gone out there was a curiously +inarticulate sound like a low growl of purely animal dissent over the +room; a word of blasphemy sounded above the din of the machines. Then +all went on as before until the noon whistle blew.</p> + +<p>Even then there was not so much discussion as might have been +expected. Robert, since the storm was so heavy, remained in the +office, and sent a boy out for a light luncheon, and the foremen were +much in evidence. There was always an uncertainty about their +sentiments, occupying as they did a position half-way between +employer and employés; and then, too, they were not affected +by the cut in wages. The sentiments of the unaffected are always a +matter of suspicion to those who suffer themselves. There were +grumblings carried on in a low key behind Flynn's back, but the +atmosphere for the most part was one of depression. Ellen ate her +luncheon with Maria and Abby. Willy Jones came up timidly when they +were nearly finished, feeling his way with a remark about the storm, +which was increasing.</p> + +<p>“All the cars are tied up,” he said, “and the +noon train isn't in.”</p> + +<p>He leaned, with a curious effort at concealment from them all and +himself, upon the corner of the bench near Abby. Then a young man +passed them, with such an air of tragedy and such a dead-white face +that they all stared after him.</p> + +<p>“What in the world ails you, Ben Simmons?” called out +Sadie Peel. But he did not act as if he heard. He crossed vehemently +to the other side of the room, and stood at a window, looking out at +the fierce white slant of the storm.</p> + +<p>“What in creation ails him?” cried Sadie Peel.</p> + +<p>“I guess I know,” Willy Jones volunteered, +timidly.</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“He was going to get married, and this cut in his wages is +going to put a stop to it. I heard him say so this +morning.”</p> + +<p>“Married! Who to?” asked Sadie Peel.</p> + +<p>“Floretta Vining.”</p> + +<p>“My land!” cried Sadie Peel. “So she did take up +with him after the school-teacher went away. I always said she would. +I always knew Edward Harris wouldn't marry her, and I always said Ben +Simmons would get her if he hung on long enough. Floretta was bound +to marry somebody; she wasn't going to wind up an old maid; and if +she couldn't get one, she'd take another. I suppose Ben has got that +sick sister of his to do for since her father died, and thinks he +can't get married with any less pay. Floretta won't make a very cheap +wife. She's bound to have things whether or no, and Ben 'ain't never +earned so much as some. He's awful steady, but he's slow as cold +molasses, and he won't let his sister suffer for no +Floretta.”</p> + +<p>“That's so; I don't believe he would,” said Abby. +“What any man in his senses wants a doll like that for enough +to look as if he was dead when he's got to put off marrying +her!”</p> + +<p>“That's because you ain't a man, Abby Atkins,” said +Sadie Peel. “All the men think of is looks, and little fine +airs and graces.”</p> + +<p>“It seems as if they might get along,” ventured Willy +Jones, “as if they might do with less for a while.”</p> + +<p>Then Ellen turned to him unexpectedly. “There's no use in +talking about doing with less when every single cent has to +count,” said she, sternly. “Ben Simmons has his taxes and +insurance, and a steady doctor's bill for his sister, and medicines +to buy. He can't have laid up a cent, for he's slow, though he's a +good workman. You can't do with less when you haven't any more than +enough.”</p> + +<p>“That's so,” said Abby. Then she turned a tender, +conciliating, indulgent gaze on the young man at her side. “If +I were Floretta Vining,” said she, “and if Ellen were, we +would go without things, and never know it. We'd go to work; but +Floretta, she's different. We went to school with Floretta +Vining.”</p> + +<p>“Floretta Vining is dreadful fond of men, but she wouldn't +go without a yard of ribbon for one if he was dying,” said +Sadie Peel, conclusively. “It's awful hard on Ben Simmons, and +no mistake.”</p> + +<p>“What?” said Amos Lee, coming up.</p> + +<p>“Oh, what's hard on all of us? What's the use of +asking?” said the girl, with a bitter coquetry. “I +shouldn't think any man with horse-sense would ask what's hard on us +when he's seen the ornaments tacked up all over the shop this +morning.”</p> + +<p>“That's so,” said Lee, with a glance over his +shoulder. Flynn was at the other end of the room. Granville Joy, +Dixon, and one or two other men were sauntering up. For a second the +little group looked at one another.</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do?” asked Ellen, in a low +voice, which had an intonation that caused the others to start.</p> + +<p>“I know what I'll do, if I can get enough to back me,” +cried Lee, in a loud voice.</p> + +<p>“Hush up!” said Sadie Peel. Then her father came along +smiling his imperturbable smile on his wide face, which had a +Slavonic cast, although he was New England born and bred. He looked +from one to the other without saying a word.</p> + +<p>“We're deciding whether to strike or not, father,” +said Sadie, in a flippant manner. She raised a hand and adjusted a +stray lock of hair as she spoke, then she straightened her ribbon +stock. Her father said nothing, but his face assumed a stolidity of +expression.</p> + +<p>“I know what I'll do,” proclaimed Amos Lee again.</p> + +<p>“Hush up!” cried Sadie Peel again, with a giggle. +“Here's Ed Flynn.” And the foreman came sauntering up as +the one-o'clock whistle blew, and the workers sprang to their posts +of work.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter XLIX</h3> + +<p>The snow increased all day. When the six-o'clock whistle blew, and +the workmen streamed out of the factories, it was a wild waste of +winter and storm. The wind had come up, and the light snow arose in +the distance like white dancers of death, spinning furiously over the +level, then settling into long, gravelike ridges. Ellen glanced into +the office as she passed the door, and saw Robert Lloyd talking +busily with Flynn and another foreman by the name of Dennison. As she +passed, Robert turned with a look as if he had been watching for her, +and came forward hastily.</p> + +<p>“Miss Brewster!” he called.</p> + +<p>Mamie Brady, following close behind, gave Ellen an admonishing +nudge. “Boss wants to see you,” she whispered, loudly. +Ellen stopped, and Robert came up.</p> + +<p>“Please step in here a moment, Miss Brewster,” he +said, and colored a little.</p> + +<p>Granville Joy, who was following Ellen, looked keenly at him, some +one sniggered aloud, and a girl said quite audibly, “My +land!”</p> + +<p>Ellen followed Robert into the office, and he bent over her, +speaking rapidly, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>“You must not walk home in this snow,” he said, +“and the cars are not running. You must let me take you. My +sleigh is at the door.”</p> + +<p>Ellen turned white. Somehow this protecting care for herself, in +the face of all which she had been considering that day, gave her a +tremendous shock. She felt at once touched and more indignant than +she had ever been in her whole life. She had been half believing that +Robert was neglecting her, that he had forgotten her; all day she had +been judging his action of cutting the wages of the workmen from her +unswerving, childlike, unshadowed point of view, and now this little +evidence of humanity towards her, in the face of what she considered +wholesale inhumanity towards others, made her at once severe to him +and to herself, and she forced back sternly the leap of pleasure and +happiness which this thought of her awakened. “No, thank +you,” she said, shortly; “I am much obliged, but I would +rather walk.”</p> + +<p>“But you cannot, in this storm,” pleaded Robert, in a +low voice.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I can; it is no worse for me than for others. There is +Maria Atkins, she has been coughing all day.”</p> + +<p>“I will take her too. Ellen, you cannot walk. You must let +me take you.”</p> + +<p>“I am much obliged, but I would rather not,” replied +Ellen, in an icy tone. She looked quite hard in his face.</p> + +<p>Robert looked at her perplexed. “But it is drifting,” +he said.</p> + +<p>“It is no worse for me than for the others.” Ellen +turned to go. Her attitude of rebuff was unmistakable.</p> + +<p>Robert colored. “Very well; I will not urge you,” he +said, coldly. Then he returned to his desk, and Ellen went out. She +caught up with Maria Atkins, who was struggling painfully through the +drifts, leaning on Abby's arm, and slipped a hand under her thin +shoulder.</p> + +<p>“I expect nothing but she'll get her death out in this +storm,” grumbled Abby. “What did he want, +Ellen?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing in particular,” replied Ellen. Uppermost in +her mind at that moment was the charge of cruelty against Robert for +not taking her hint as to Maria. “He can ask me to ride because +he has amused himself with me, but as for taking this poor girl, whom +he does not love, when it may mean life or death to her, he did not +think seriously of doing that for a moment,” she thought.</p> + +<p>Maria was coughing, although she strove hard to smother the +coughs. Granville Joy, who was plodding ahead, turned and waited +until they came up.</p> + +<p>“You had better let me carry you, Maria,” he said, +jocularly, but his honest eyes were full of concern.</p> + +<p>“He is enough sight kinder than Robert Lloyd,” thought +Ellen; “he has a better heart.” And then the splendid +Lloyd sleigh came up behind them and stopped, tilting to a drift. +Robert, in his fur-lined coat, sprang out and went up to Maria.</p> + +<p>“Please let me take you home,” he said, kindly. +“You have a cold, and this storm is too severe for you to be +out. Please let me take you home.”</p> + +<p>Maria looked at him, fairly gasping with astonishment. She tried +to speak, but a cough choked her.</p> + +<p>“You had better go if Mr. Lloyd will take you,” Abby +said, decisively. “Thank you, Mr. Lloyd; she isn't fit to be +out.” She urged her sister towards the sleigh, and Robert +assisted her into the fur-lined nest.</p> + +<p>“I can sit with the driver,” said Robert to Abby, +“if you will come with your sister.”</p> + +<p>“No, thank you,” replied Abby. “I am able to +walk, but I will be much obliged if you will take Maria +home.”</p> + +<p>Robert sprang in beside Maria, and the sleigh slid out of +sight.</p> + +<p>“I never!” said Abby. Ellen said nothing, but plodded +on, her eyes fixed on the snowy track.</p> + +<p>“I am glad she had a chance to ride,” said Granville +Joy, in a tentative voice. He looked uneasily at Ellen.</p> + +<p>“It beats the Dutch,” said Abby. She also regarded +Ellen with sympathy and perplexity. When they reached the street +where she lived, up which the sleigh had disappeared, she let +Granville go on ahead, and she spoke to Ellen in a low tone. +“Why didn't he ask you?” she said.</p> + +<p>“He did,” replied Ellen.</p> + +<p>“In the office?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And you wouldn't?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Why not?”</p> + +<p>“I don't care to accept favors from a man who oppresses all +my friends!”</p> + +<p>“He was good to take in Maria,” said Abby, in a +perplexed voice. “His uncle would never have thought of +it.”</p> + +<p>Ellen made no reply. She stood still in the drifting snow, with +her mouth shut hard.</p> + +<p>“You feel as if this cutting wages was a pretty hard +thing?” said Abby.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do.”</p> + +<p>“Well, so do I. I wonder what they will do about it. I don't +know how the men feel. Somehow, folks can't seem to think or plan +much in a storm like this. There's the sleigh coming back.”</p> + +<p>“Good-night,” Ellen said, hurriedly, and trudged on as +fast as she was able in order not to have the Lloyd sleigh pass her; +it had to turn after reaching the end of the street. Ellen caught up +with Granville Joy. Robert, glancing over the waving fringe of fur +tails, saw disappearing in the pale gleam of the electric-light the +two dim figures veiled by the drifting snow. He thought to himself, +with a sharp pain, that perhaps, after all, Granville Joy was the +reason for her rebuff. It never occurred to him that his action in +cutting the wages could have anything to do with it.</p> + +<p>Ellen went along with Granville, who was anxious to offer her his +arm, but did not quite dare. He kept thrusting out an elbow in her +direction, and an inarticulate invitation died in his throat. +Finally, when they reached an unusually high drift of snow, he +plucked up sufficient courage.</p> + +<p>“Take my arm, won't you?” he said, with a pitiful +attempt at ease, then stared as if he had been shot, at Ellen's +reply.</p> + +<p>“No, thank you,” she said. “I think it is easier +to walk alone in snow like this.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe it is,” assented Granville, dejectedly. He +walked on, scuffling as hard as he could to make a path for Ellen +with the patient faithfulness of a dog.</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do about the cut in wages?” +Ellen asked, presently.</p> + +<p>Granville started. The sudden transition from personalities to +generalities confused him.</p> + +<p>“What?” he said.</p> + +<p>Ellen repeated her question.</p> + +<p>“I don't know,” said Granville. “I don't think +the boys have made up their minds. I don't know what they will do. +They have been weeding out union men. I suppose the union would have +something to say about it otherwise. I don't know what we will +do.”</p> + +<p>“I shouldn't think there would be very much doubt as to what +to do,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>Granville stared at her over his shoulder in a perplexed, admiring +fashion. “You mean—?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I shouldn't think there would be any doubt.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don't know. It is a pretty serious thing to get out +of work in midwinter for a good many of us, and as long as the union +isn't in control, other men can come in. I don't know.”</p> + +<p>“I know,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>“You mean—?”</p> + +<p>“I mean that I do not think it right, that it is unjust, and +I believe in resisting injustice.”</p> + +<p>“Men have resisted injustice ever since the Creation,” +said Granville, in a bitter voice.</p> + +<p>“Well, resistance can continue as long as life lasts,” +returned Ellen. Just then came a fiercer blast than ever, laden with +a stinging volley of snow, and seemed to sweep the words from the +girl's mouth. She bent before it involuntarily, and the conviction +forced itself upon her that, after all, resistance to injustice might +be as futile as resistance to storm, that injustice might be one of +the primal forces of the world, and one of the conditions of its +endurance, and yet with the conviction came the renewed resolution to +resist.</p> + +<p>“What can poor men do against capital unless they are backed +up by some labor organization?” asked Granville. “And I +don't believe there are a dozen in the factory who belong to the +union. There has been an understanding, without his ever saying so +that I know of, that the old boss didn't approve of it. So lots of us +kept out of it, we wanted work so bad. What can we do against such +odds?”</p> + +<p>“When right is on your side, you have all the odds,” +said Ellen, looking back over her snow-powdered shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Then you would strike?”</p> + +<p>“I wouldn't submit.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don't know how the boys feel,” said +Granville. “I suppose we'll have to talk it over.”</p> + +<p>“I shouldn't need to talk it over,” said Ellen. +“You've gone past your house, Granville.”</p> + +<p>“I ain't going to let you go home alone in such a storm as +this,” said Granville, in a tender voice, which he tried to +make facetious. “I wouldn't let any girl go home alone in such +a storm.”</p> + +<p>Ellen stopped short. “I don't want you to go home with me, +thank you, Granville,” she said. “Your mother will have +supper ready, and I can go just as well alone.”</p> + +<p>“Ellen, I won't let you go alone,” said the young man, +as a wilder gust came. “Suppose you should fall +down?”</p> + +<p>“Fall down!” repeated Ellen, with a laugh, but her +regard of the young man, in spite of her rebuff, was tender. He +touched her with his unfailing devotion; the heavy trudging by her +side of this poor man meant, she told herself, much more than the +invitation of the rich one to ride behind his bays in his luxurious +sleigh. This meant the very bone and sinew of love. She held out her +little, mittened hand to him.</p> + +<p>“Good-night, Granville,” she said.</p> + +<p>Granville caught it eagerly. “Oh, Ellen,” he +murmured.</p> + +<p>But she withdrew her hand quickly. “We have always been good +friends, and we always will be,” said she, and her tone was +unmistakable. The young man shrank back.</p> + +<p>“Yes, we always will, Ellen,” he said, in a faithful +voice, with a note of pain in it.</p> + +<p>“Good-night,” said Ellen again.</p> + +<p>“Good-night,” responded Granville, and turned his +plodding back on the girl and retraced his laborious steps towards +his own home, which he had just passed. There come times for all +souls when the broad light of the path of humanity seems to pale to +insignificance before the intensity of the one little search-light of +personality. Granville Joy felt as if the eternal problem of the rich +and poor, of labor and capital, of justice and equality, was as +nothing before the desire of his heart for that one girl who was +disappearing from his sight behind the veil of virgin snow.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter L</h3> + +<p>When Ellen came in sight of her house that night she saw her +father's bent figure moving down the path with sidewise motions of a +broom. He had been out at short intervals all the afternoon, that she +should not have to wade through drifts to the door. The +electric-light shone full on this narrow, cleared track and the +toiling figure.</p> + +<p>“Hullo, father!” Ellen called out. Andrew turned, and +his face lit with love and welcome and solicitude.</p> + +<p>“Be you dreadful snowy?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Oh no, father, not very.”</p> + +<p>“It's an awful storm.”</p> + +<p>“Pretty bad, but I got along all right. The snow-plough has +been out.”</p> + +<p>“Wait a minute till I get this swept,” said Andrew, +sweeping violently before her.</p> + +<p>“You needn't have bothered, father,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>“I 'ain't anything else to do,” replied Andrew, in a +sad voice.</p> + +<p>“There's mother watching,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Yes, she's been diggin' at them wrappers all +day.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose she has,” Ellen returned, in a bitter tone. +Her father stared at her. Ellen never spoke like that. For the first +time she echoed him and her mother. Something like terror came over +him at the sound of that familiar note of his own life from this +younger one. He seemed to realize dimly that a taint of his nature +had descended upon his child.</p> + +<p>When Ellen entered the house, the warm air was full of savory +odors of toast and tea and cooking meat and vegetables.</p> + +<p>“You'd better go right up-stairs and put on a dry dress, +Ellen,” said Fanny. “I put your blue one out on your bed, +and your shoes are warming by the sitting-room stove. I've been +worrying as to how you were going to get home all day.” Then +she stopped short as she caught sight of Ellen's face. “What on +earth is the matter, Ellen Brewster?” she said.</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” said Ellen. “Why?”</p> + +<p>“You look queer. Has anything happened?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, something has happened.”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>Andrew turned pale. He stood in the entry with his snowy broom in +hand, staring from one to the other.</p> + +<p>“Nothing that you need worry about,” said Ellen. +“I'll tell you when I get my dress changed.”</p> + +<p>Ellen pulled off her rubbers, and went up-stairs to her chamber. +Fanny and Andrew stood looking at each other.</p> + +<p>“You don't suppose—” whispered Andrew.</p> + +<p>“Suppose what?” responded Fanny, sharply.</p> + +<p>They continued to look at each other. Fanny answered Andrew as if +he had spoken, with that jealous pride for her girl's self-respect +which possessed her even before the girl's father.</p> + +<p>“Land, it ain't that,” said she. “You wouldn't +catch Ellen lookin' as if anything had come across her for such a +thing as that.”</p> + +<p>“No, I suppose she wouldn't,” said Andrew; and he +actually blushed before his wife's eyes.</p> + +<p>That afternoon Mrs. Wetherhed had been in, and told Fanny that she +had heard that Robert Lloyd was to be married to Maud Hemingway; and +both Andrew and Fanny had thought of that as the cause of Ellen's +changed face.</p> + +<p>“You'd better take that broom out into the shed, and get the +snow off yourself, and come in and shut the door,” Fanny said, +shortly. “You're colding the house all off, and Amabel has got +a cold, and she's sitting right in the draught.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” replied Andrew, meekly, though Fanny had +herself been holding the sitting-room door open. In those days Andrew +felt below his moral stature as head of the house. Actually, looking +at Fanny, who was earning her small share towards the daily bread, +she seemed to him much taller than he, though she was a head shorter. +He thought so little of himself, he seemed to see himself as through +the wrong end of a telescope. Fanny went into the sitting-room and +shut the door with a bang. Amabel did not look up from her book. She +was reading a library book much beyond her years, and sniffing +pathetically with her cold. Amabel had begun to discover an +omnivorous taste for books, which stuck at nothing. She understood +not more than half of what she read, but seemed to relish it like +indigestible food.</p> + +<p>When Ellen came down-stairs, and sat beside the coal stove to +change her shoes, she looked at the book which Amabel was reading. +“You ought not to read that book, dear,” she said. +“Let Ellen get you a better one for a little girl +to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>But Amabel, without paying the slightest heed to Ellen's words, +looked up at her with amazement, as Andrew and Fanny had done. +“What's the matter, Ellen?” she asked, in her little, +hoarse voice.</p> + +<p>Fanny and Andrew, who had just entered, stood waiting. Ellen bent +over her shoe, drawing in the strings firmly and evenly.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Lloyd has reduced the wage-list,” she said.</p> + +<p>“How much?” asked Andrew, in a hoarse voice.</p> + +<p>“Ten per cent.”</p> + +<p>There was a dead silence. Andrew and Fanny looked at Ellen like +people who are uncertain of their next move; Amabel stared from one +to the other with her weak, watery eyes. Ellen continued to lace her +shoes.</p> + +<p>“What do you think about it, Ellen?” asked Andrew, +almost timidly.</p> + +<p>“I know of only one thing to think,” replied Ellen, in +a dogged voice.</p> + +<p>As she spoke she pulled the tag off a shoe-string because it would +not go through the eyelet.</p> + +<p>“What is that?” asked Fanny, in a hard voice.</p> + +<p>“I think it is cruelty and tyranny,” said Ellen, +pulling the rough end of the string through the eyelet.</p> + +<p>“I suppose the times are pretty hard,” ventured +Andrew; but Ellen cut him short.</p> + +<p>“Robert Lloyd has half a million, which has been accumulated +by the labor of poor men in prosperous times,” said she, with +her childlike severity and pitilessness. “There is no question +about the matter.”</p> + +<p>Then Fanny flung all self-interest to the wind and was at her +daughter's side like a whirlwind. The fact that the two were of one +blood was never so strongly evident. Red spots glowed in the elder +woman's cheeks and her black eyes blazed.</p> + +<p>“Ellen's right,” said she; “she's right. For a +man worth half a million to cut down the wages of poor, hard-working +folks in midwinter is cruelty. I don't care who does it.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>Fanny opened her mouth to tell Ellen of the rumor concerning +Robert's engagement to Maud Hemingway, then she refrained, for some +reason which she could not analyze. In her heart she did not believe +the report to be true, and considered the telling of it a slight to +Ellen, but it influenced her in her indignation against Robert for +the wage-cutting.</p> + +<p>“What are they going to do?” asked Andrew.</p> + +<p>“I don't know,” replied Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Did he—young Lloyd—talk to the men?”</p> + +<p>“No; notices were tacked up all over the shop.”</p> + +<p>“That was the way his uncle would have done,” said +Andrew, in a curious voice of bitterness and respect.</p> + +<p>“So you don't know what they are going to do?” said +Fanny.</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I know what I would do,” said Fanny. “I +never would give in, if I starved—never!”</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter LI</h3> + +<p>When Ellen started for the factory the next morning the storm had +not ceased; the roads were very heavy, although the snow-plough had +been out at intervals all night, and there was a struggling line of +shovelling men along the car-track, but the cars were still unable to +penetrate the drifts. When Ellen passed her grandmother's house the +old woman tapped sharply on the window and motioned her back +frantically with one bony hand. The window was frozen to the sill +with the snow, and she could not raise it. Ellen shook her head, +smiling. Her grandmother continued to wave her back, the lines of +forbidding anxiety in her old face as strongly marked as an etching +in the window frame. This love, which had at once coerced and fondled +the girl since her birth, was very precious to her. This protection, +which she was forced to repel, smote her like a pain.</p> + +<p>“Poor old grandmother!” she thought; “there she +will worry about me all day because I have gone out in the +storm.” She turned back and waved her hand and nodded +laughingly; but the old woman continued that anxiously imperative +backward motion until Ellen was out of sight.</p> + +<p>Ellen walked in the car-track, as did everybody else, that being +better cleared than the rest of the road. She was astonished that she +heard nothing of the cut in wages from the men. There seemed to be no +excitement at all. They merely trudged heavily along, their whitening +bodies bent before the storm. There was an unusual doggedness about +this march to the factory this morning, but that was all. Ellen +returned the muttered greeting of several, and walked along in +silence with the rest. Even when Abby Atkins joined her there was +little said. Ellen asked for Maria, and Abby replied that she had +taken more cold yesterday, and could not speak aloud; then relapsed +into silence, making her way through the snow with a sort of taciturn +endurance. Ellen looked at the struggling procession of which she was +a part, all slanting with the slant of the storm, and a fancy seized +her that rebellion and resistance were hopeless, that those parallel +lines of yielding to the onslaughts of fate were as inevitable as +life itself, one of its conditions. Men could not help walking that +way when the bitter storm-wind was blowing; they could not help +living that way when fate was in array against their progress. Then, +thinking so, a mightier spirit of revolt than she had ever known +awoke within her. She, as she walked, straightened herself. She +leaned not one whit before the drive of the storm. She advanced with +no yielding in her, her brave face looking ahead through the white +blur of snow with a confidence which was almost exultation.</p> + +<p>“What do you think the men will do?” she said to Abby +when they came in sight of Lloyd's, shaggy with fringes and wreaths +and overhanging shelvings of snow, roaring with machinery, with the +steady stream of labor pouring in the door.</p> + +<p>“Do?” repeated Abby, almost listlessly. “Do +about what?”</p> + +<p>“About the cut in wages?”</p> + +<p>Abby turned on her with sudden fire. “Oh, my God, what can +they do, Ellen Brewster?” she demanded. “Haven't they got +to live? Hasn't Lloyd got it all his own way? How are men to live in +weather like this without work? Bread without butter is better than +none at all, and life at any cost is better than death for them you +love. What can they do?”</p> + +<p>“It seems to me there is only one thing to do,” +replied Ellen.</p> + +<p>Abby stared at her wonderingly. “You don't +mean—” she said, as they climbed up the stairs.</p> + +<p>“I mean I would do anything, at whatever cost to myself, to +defeat injustice,” said Ellen, in a loud, clear voice.</p> + +<p>Several men turned and looked back at her and laughed +bitterly.</p> + +<p>“It's easy talking,” said one to another.</p> + +<p>“That's so,” returned the other.</p> + +<p>The people all settled to their work as usual. One of the foremen +(Dennison), who was anxious to curry favor with his employer, +reported to him in an undertone in the office that everything was +quiet. Robert nodded easily. He had not anticipated anything else. In +the course of the morning he looked into the room where Ellen was +employed, and saw with relief and concern her fair head before her +machine. It seemed to him that he could not bear it one instant +longer to have her working in this fashion, that he must lift her out +of it. He still tingled with his rebuff of the night before, but he +had never loved her so well, for the idea that the cut in wages +affected her relation to him never occurred to him. As he walked +through the room none of the workers seemed to notice him, but worked +with renewed energy. He might have been invisible for all the +attention he seemed to excite. He looked with covert tenderness at +the back of Ellen's head, and passed on. He reflected that he had +adopted the measure of wage-cutting with no difficulty whatever.</p> + +<p>“All it needs is a little firmness,” he thought, with +a boyish complacency in his own methods. “Now I can keep on +with the factory, and no turning the poor people adrift in +midwinter.”</p> + +<p>At noon Robert put on his fur-lined coat and left the factory, +springing into the sleigh, which had drawn up before the door with a +flurry of bells. He had an errand in the next town that afternoon, +and was not going to return. When the sleigh had slid swiftly out of +sight through the storm, which was lightening a little, the people in +the office turned to one another with a curious expression of +liberty, but even then little was said. Nellie Stone was at the desk +eating her luncheon; Ed Flynn and Dennison and one of the lasters, +who had looked in and then stepped in when he saw Lloyd was gone, +were there. The laster, who was young and coarsely handsome, had an +admiration for the pretty girl at the desk. Presently she addressed +him, with her mouth full of apple-pie.</p> + +<p>“Say, George, what are you fellows going to do?” she +asked.</p> + +<p>Dennison glanced keenly from one to the other; Flynn shrugged his +shoulders and looked out of the window.</p> + +<p>“Looks as if it was clearing up,” he remarked.</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do?” asked Nellie Stone again, +with a coquettish flirt of her blond fluff of hair.</p> + +<p>“Grin and bear it, I s'pose,” replied the young +laster, with an adoring look at her.</p> + +<p>“My land! grin and bear a cut of ten per cent.? Well, I +don't think you've got much spunk, I must say. Why don't you +strike?”</p> + +<p>“Who's going to feed us?” replied the laster, in a +tender voice.</p> + +<p>“Feed you? Oh, you don't want much to eat. Join the union. +It's ridiculous so few of the men in Lloyd's belong to it, anyway; +and then the union will feed you, won't it?”</p> + +<p>“The union did not do what it promised in the Scarboro +strike,” interposed Dennison, curtly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, we all know where you are, Frank Dennison,” said +the girl, with a soft roll of her blue eyes. “Besides, it's +easy to talk when you aren't hit. Your wages aren't cut. But here is +George May here, he's in a different box.”</p> + +<p>“He's got nobody dependent on him, anyway,” said +Flynn.</p> + +<p>“If I wasn't going to get married I'd strike,” cried +the young man, with a fervent glance at the girl. She colored, half +pleased, half angry, and the other men chuckled. She took another +bite of pie to conceal her confusion. She preferred Flynn to the +laster, and while she was not averse to proving to the former the +triumph of her charms over another man, did not like too much +concessions.</p> + +<p>“You'd better go and eat your dinner, George May,” she +said, in her sweet, shrill voice. “First thing you know the +whistle will blow. Here's yours, Ed.” With that she pulled out +a leather bag from under the desk, where she had volunteered to place +it for warmth and safety against the coil of steam-pipes.</p> + +<p>“I don't believe your coffee is very cold, Ed,” said +she.</p> + +<p>The laster glared from one to the other jealously. Dennison went +towards a shelf where he had stored away his luncheon, when he +stopped suddenly and listened, as did the others. There came a great +uproar of applause from the next room beyond. Then it subsided, and a +girl's clear, loud voice was heard.</p> + +<p>“What is going on?” cried Nellie Stone. She jumped up +and ran to the door, still eating her pie, and the men followed +her.</p> + +<p>At the end of one of the work-rooms, backed against a snowy +window, clung about with shreds of the driving storm, stood Ellen +Brewster, with some other girls around her, and a few men on the +outskirts, and a steady, curious movement of all the other workmen +towards her, as of iron filings towards a magnet, and she was +talking.</p> + +<p>Her voice was quite audible all over the great room. It was +low-pitched, but had a wonderful carrying quality, and there was +something marvellous in its absolute confidence.</p> + +<p>“If you men will do nothing, and say nothing, it is time for +a girl to say and act,” she proclaimed. “I did not dream +for a minute that you would yield to this cut in wages. Why should +you have your wages cut?”</p> + +<p>“The times are pretty hard,” said a doubtful voice +among her auditors.</p> + +<p>“What if the times are hard? What is that to you? Have you +made them hard? It is the great capitalists who have made them hard +by shifting the wealth too much to one side. They are the ones who +should suffer, not you. What have you done, except come here morning +after morning in cold or heat, rain or shine, and work with all your +strength? They who have precipitated the hard times are the ones who +should bear the brunt of them. Your work is the same now as it was +then, the strain on your flesh and blood and muscles is the same, +your pay should be the same.”</p> + +<p>“That's so,” said Abby Atkins, in a reluctant, surly +fashion.</p> + +<p>“That's so,” said another girl, and another. Then +there was a fusilade of hand-claps started by the girls, and somewhat +feebly echoed by the men.</p> + +<p>One or two men looked rather uneasily back towards Dennison and +Flynn and two more foremen who had come forward.</p> + +<p>“It ain't as though we had something to fall back on,” +said a man's grumbling voice. “It's easy to talk when you +'ain't got a wife and five children dependent on you.”</p> + +<p>“That's so,” said another man, doggedly.</p> + +<p>“That has nothing to do with it,” said Ellen, firmly. +“We can all club together, and keep the wolf from the door for +those who are hardest pressed for a while; and as for me, if I were a +man—”</p> + +<p>She paused a minute. When she spoke again her voice was full of +childlike enthusiasm; it seemed to ring like a song.</p> + +<p>“If I were a man,” said she, “I would go out in +the street and dig—I would beg, I would steal—before I +would yield—I, a free man in a free country—to tyranny +like this!”</p> + +<p>There was a great round of applause at that. Dennison scowled and +said something in a low voice to another foreman at his side. Flynn +laughed, with a perplexed, admiring look at Ellen.</p> + +<p>“The question is,” said Tom Peel, slouching on the +outskirts of the throng, and speaking in an imperturbable, +compelling, drawling voice, “whether the free men in the free +country are going to kick themselves free, or into tighter places, by +kicking.”</p> + +<p>“If you have got to stop to count the cost of bravery and +standing up for your rights, there would be no bravery in the +world,” returned Ellen, with disdain.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I am ready to kick,” said Peel, with his +mask-like smile.</p> + +<p>“So am I,” said Granville Joy, in a loud voice. Amos +Lee came rushing through the crowd to Ellen's side. He had been +eating his dinner in another room, and had just heard what was going +on. He opened his mouth with a motion as of letting loose a flood of +ranting, but somebody interposed. John Sargent, bulky and +irresistible in his steady resolution, put him aside and stood before +him.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” he said to them all. “There may be +truth in what Miss Brewster says, but we must not act hastily; there +is too much at stake. Let us appoint a committee and go to see Mr. +Lloyd this evening, and remonstrate on the cutting of the +wages.” He turned to Ellen in a kindly, half-paternal fashion. +“Don't you see it would be better?” he said.</p> + +<p>She looked at him doubtfully, her cheeks glowing, her eyes like +stars. She was freedom and youth incarnate, and rebellious against +all which she conceived as wrong and tyrannical. She could hardly +admit, in her fire of enthusiasm, of pure indignation, of any +compromise or arbitration. All the griefs of her short life, she had +told herself, were directly traceable to the wrongs of the system of +labor and capital, and were awakening within her as freshly as if +they had just happened.</p> + +<p>She remembered her father, exiled in his prime from his place in +the working world by this system of arbitrary employment; she +remembered her aunt in the asylum; poor little Amabel; her own mother +toiling beyond her strength on underpaid work; Maria coughing her +life away. She remembered her own life twisted into another track +from the one which she should have followed, and there was for the +time very little reason or justice in her. That injustice which will +arise to meet its kind in equal combat had arisen in her heart. +Still, she yielded. “Perhaps you are right,” she said to +Sargent. She had always liked John Sargent, and she respected +him.</p> + +<p>“I am sure it is the best course,” he said to her, +still in that low, confidential voice.</p> + +<p>It ended in a committee of four—John Sargent, Amos Lee, Tom +Peel, and one of the older lasters, a very respectable man, a deacon +in the Baptist Church—being appointed to wait on Robert Lloyd +that evening.</p> + +<p>When the one-o'clock whistle blew, Ellen went back to her machine. +She was very pale, but she was conscious of a curious steadiness of +all her nerves. Abby leaned towards her, and spoke low in the roar of +wheels.</p> + +<p>“I'll back you up, if I die for it,” she said.</p> + +<p>But Sadie Peel, on the other side, spoke quite openly, with a +laugh and shrug of her shoulders. “Land,” she said, +“father'll be with you. He's bound to strike. He struck when he +was in McGuire's. Catch father givin' up anything. But as for me, I +wish you'd all slow up an' stick to work, if you do get a little +less. If we quit work I can't have a nearseal cape, and I've set my +heart on a nearseal cape this winter.”</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter LII</h3> + +<p>Ellen resolved that she would say as little as possible about the +trouble at home that night. She did not wish her parents to worry +over it until it was settled in one way or another.</p> + +<p>When her mother asked what they had done about the wage-cutting, +she replied that a committee had been appointed to wait on Mr. Lloyd +that evening, and talk it over with him; then she said nothing +more.</p> + +<p>“He won't give in if he's like his uncle,” said +Fanny.</p> + +<p>Ellen went on eating her supper in silence. Her father glanced at +her with sharp solicitude.</p> + +<p>“Maybe he will,” said he.</p> + +<p>“No, he won't,” returned Fanny.</p> + +<p>Ellen was very pale and her eyes were bright. After supper she +went to the window and pressed her face against the glass, shielding +her eyes from the in-door light, and saw that the storm had quite +ceased. The stars were shining and the white boughs of the trees +lashing about in the northwest wind. She went into the entry, where +she had hung her hat and coat, and began putting them on.</p> + +<p>“Where are you going, Ellen?” asked her mother.</p> + +<p>“Just down to Abby's a minute.”</p> + +<p>“You don't mean to say your are goin' out again in this +snow, Ellen Brewster? I should think you were crazy.” When +Fanny said crazy, she suddenly started and shuddered as if she had +struck herself. She thought of Eva. Always the possibility of a like +doom was in her own mind.</p> + +<p>“It has stopped snowing, mother,” Ellen said.</p> + +<p>“Stopped snowing! What if it has? The roads ain't cleared. +You can't get down to Abby Atkins's without gettin' wet up to your +knees. I should think if you got into the house after such a storm +you'd have sense enough to stay in. I've worried just about +enough.”</p> + +<p>Ellen took off her coat and hat and hung them up again. +“Well, I won't go if you feel so, mother,” she said, +patiently.</p> + +<p>“It seems as if you might get along without seein' Abby +Atkins till to-morrow mornin', when you'd seen her only an hour +ago,” Fanny went on, in the high, nagging tone which she often +adopted with those whom she loved the dearest.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I can,” said Ellen. It seemed to her that she +must see somebody with whom she could talk about the trouble in the +factory, but she yielded. There was always with the girl a perfect +surface docility, as that she seemed to have no resistance, but a +little way down was a rock-bed of firmness. She lighted her lamp, and +took her library book and went up-stairs to bed to read. But she +could not read, and she could not sleep when she had put aside her +book and extinguished her lamp. She could think of nothing except +Robert, and what he would say to the committee. She lay awake all +night thinking of it. Ellen was a girl who was capable of the most +devoted love, and the most intense dissent and indignation towards +the same person. She could love in spite of faults, and she could see +faults in spite of love. She thought of Robert Lloyd as of the one +human soul whom she loved best out of the whole world, whom she put +before everybody else, even her own self, and she also thought of him +with a wrath which was pitiless and uncompromising, and which seemed +to tear her own heart to pieces, for one cannot be wroth with love +without a set-back of torture. “If he does not give in and +raise the wages, I shall hate him,” thought Ellen; and her +heart stung her as if at the touch of a hot iron, and then she could +have struck herself for the supposition that he would not give in. +“He must,” she told herself, with a great fervor of love. +“He must.”</p> + +<p>But when she went down to breakfast the next morning her mother +stared at her sharply.</p> + +<p>“Ellen Brewster, what is the matter with you?” she +cried.</p> + +<p>“Nothing. Why?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing! You look like a ghost.”</p> + +<p>“I feel perfectly well,” said Ellen. She made an +effort to eat as much breakfast as usual in order that her mother +should not suspect that she was troubled. When at last she set out +for the factory, in the early morning dusk, she was chilled and +trembling with excitement.</p> + +<p>The storm had quite ceased, and there was a pale rose-and-violet +dawn-light in the east, and presently came effects like +golden-feathered shafts shooting over the sky. The road was alive +with shovelling men, construction-cars of the railroad company were +laboring back and forth to clear the tracks, householders were making +their way from their doors to their gates, clearing their paths, +lifting up the snow in great, glittering, blue-white blocks on their +clumsy shovels. Everywhere were the factory employés hastening +to their labor; the snow was dropping from the overladen tree +branches in great blobs; there was an incessant, shrill chatter of +people, and occasional shouts. It was the rally of mankind after a +defeat by a primitive force of nature. It was the eternal reassertion +of human life and a higher organization over the elemental. Men who +had walked doggedly the morning before now moved with a spring of +alacrity, although the road was very heavy. There was a new light in +their eyes; their cheeks glowed. Ellen had no doubt whatever that if +Robert Lloyd had not yielded the attitude of the employés of +Lloyd's would be one of resistance. She herself seemed to breathe in +resistance to tyranny, and strength for the right in every breath of +the clear, crisp morning air. She felt as if she could trample on +herself and her own weakness, for the sake of justice and the +inalienable good of her kind, with as little hesitation as she +trampled on the creaking snow. Yet she trembled with that deadly +chill before a sense of impending fate. When she returned the +salutations of her friends on the road she felt that her lips were +stiff.</p> + +<p>“You look dreadful queer, Ellen,” Abby Atkins said, +anxiously, when she joined her. Maria also was out that morning.</p> + +<p>“Have you heard what they are going to do?” Ellen +asked, in a sort of breathless fashion.</p> + +<p>“You mean about the wage-cutting? Don't look so, +Ellen.”</p> + +<p>Maria pressed close to Ellen, and slid her thin arm through +hers.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Ellen. “What did John Sargent say +when he got home last night?”</p> + +<p>Abby hesitated a second, looking doubtfully at Ellen. “I +don't see that there is any need for you to take all this so much to +heart,” she said.</p> + +<p>“What did he say?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” Abby replied, reluctantly, “I believe +Mr. Lloyd wouldn't give in. Ellen Brewster, for Heaven's sake, don't +look so!”</p> + +<p>Ellen walked on, her head high, her face as white as death. Maria +clung closely to her, her own lips quivering.</p> + +<p>“What are the men going to do, do you think?” asked +Ellen, presently, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>“I don't know,” replied Abby. “John Sargent +seems to think they'll give in. He says he doesn't know what else +they can do. The times are hard. I believe Amos Lee and Tom Peel are +for striking, but he says he doesn't believe the men will support +them. The amount of it all is, a man with money has got it all his +own way. It's like fighting with bare hands to oppose him, and +getting yourself cut, and not hurting him at all. He's got all the +weapons. We simply can't go without work all winter. It is better to +do with less than with nothing at all. What can a man like Willy +Jones do if he hasn't any work? He and his mother would actually +suffer. What could we do?”</p> + +<p>“I don't think we ought to think so much about that,” +said Ellen.</p> + +<p>“What do you think we ought to think about, for goodness' +sake?”</p> + +<p>“Whether we are doing right or not, whether we are +furthering the cause of justice and humanity, or hindering it. +Whether it is for good in the long run or not. There have always been +martyrs; I don't see why it is any harder for us to be martyrs than +for those we read about.”</p> + +<p>Sadie Peel came pressing up behind eagerly, her cheeks glowing, +holding up her dress, and displaying a cheap red petticoat. +“Ellen Brewster,” she exclaimed, “if you dare say +anything more to-day I'm goin' to talk. Father is tearing, though he +goes around looking as if he wouldn't jump at a cannon-ball. Do, for +Heaven's sake, keep still; and if you can't get what you want, take +what you can get. I ain't goin' to be cheated out of my nearseal +cape, nohow.”</p> + +<p>“Sadie Peel, you make me tired,” cried Abby Atkins. +“I don't say that I'm striking, but I'd strike for all a +nearseal cape. I'm ashamed of you.”</p> + +<p>“I don't care if you be,” said the girl, tossing her +head. “A nearseal cape means as much to me as some other things +to you. I want Ellen Brewster to hold her tongue.”</p> + +<p>“Ellen Brewster will hold her tongue or not, just as she has +a mind to,” responded Abby, with a snap. She did not like Sadie +Peel.</p> + +<p>“Oh, stick up for her if you want to, and get us all into +trouble.”</p> + +<p>“I shall stick up for her, you can be mighty sure of +that,” declared Abby.</p> + +<p>Ellen walked on as if she heard nothing of it at all, with little +Maria clinging closely to her. Robert Lloyd got out of his sleigh and +went up-stairs just before they reached the factory, and she heard a +very low, subdued mutter of execration.</p> + +<p>“They don't mean to strike,” she told herself. +“They mean to submit.”</p> + +<p>All went to their tasks as usual. In a minute after the whistle +blew the great pile was in the full hum of labor. Ellen stood for a +few moments at her machine, then she left it deliberately, and made +her way down the long room to where John Sargent stood at his bench +cutting shoes, with a swift faithfulness born of long practice. She +pressed close to him, while the men around stared.</p> + +<p>“What is going to be done?” she asked, in a low +voice.</p> + +<p>Sargent turned and looked at her in a troubled fashion, and spoke +in a pacific, soothing tone, as her father might have done. He was +much older than Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Now look here, child,” he said, “I don't dare +take the responsibility of urging all these men into starvation this +kind of weather. The times are hard. Lloyd has some +reason—”</p> + +<p>Ellen walked away from him swiftly and went to the row of +lasting-machines where Amos Lee and Tom Peel stood. She walked up to +them and spoke in a loud, clear voice.</p> + +<p>“You are not going to give in?” said she. “You +don't mean to give in?”</p> + +<p>Lee turned and gave her one stare, and left his machine.</p> + +<p>“Not another stitch of work will I do under this new +wage-list, so help me, God!” he proclaimed.</p> + +<p>Tom Peel stood for a second like an automaton, staring at them +both. Then he turned back to his post.</p> + +<p>“I'm with ye,” he said.</p> + +<p>The lasters, for some occult reason, were always the most +turbulent element in Lloyd's. In less than three minutes the +enthusiasm of revolt had spread, and every laster had left his +machine. In a half-hour more there was an exodus of workmen from +Lloyd's. There were very few left in the factory. Among them were +John Sargent, the laster who was a deacon and had formed one of the +consulting committee, Sadie Peel, who wanted her nearseal cape, and +Mamie Brady, who would do nothing which she thought would displease +the foreman, Flynn.</p> + +<p>“If father's mind to be such a fool, it's no reason why I +should,” said Sadie Peel, stitching determinedly away. Mamie +Brady looked at Flynn, when he came up to her, with a gentle, +wheedling smile. There was no one near, and she fancied that he might +steal a kiss. But instead he looked at her, frowning.</p> + +<p>“No use you tying away any longer, Mamie,” he said. +“The strike's on.”</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter LIII</h3> + +<p>That was one of the strangest days which Ellen had ever passed. +The enforced idleness gave her an indefinite sense of guilt. She +tried to assist her mother about the household tasks, then she tried +to sew on the wrappers, but she was awkward about it, from long +disuse.</p> + +<p>“Do take your book and sit down and read and rest a little, +now you've got a chance,” said Fanny, with sharp +solicitude.</p> + +<p>She said never one word concerning it to Ellen, but all the time +she thought how Ellen had probably lost her lover. It was really +doubtful which suffered the more that day, the mother or the +daughter. Fanny, entirely faithful to her own husband, had yet that +strange vicarious affection for her daughter's lover, and a +realization of her state of mind, of which a mother alone is capable. +It is like a cord of birth which is never severed. Not one shadow of +sad reflection passed over the bright enthusiastic face of the girl +but was passed on, as if driven by some wind of spirit, over the face +of the older woman. She reflected Ellen entirely.</p> + +<p>As for Andrew, his anxiety was as tender, and less subtle. He did +not understand so clearly, but he suffered more. He was clumsy with +this mystery of womanhood, but he was unremitting in his efforts to +do something for the girl. Once he tiptoed up to Fanny and whispered, +when Ellen was in the next room, that he hoped she hadn't made any +mistake, that it seemed to him she looked pretty pale.</p> + +<p>“Mistake?” cried Fanny, tossing her head, and staring +at him proudly. “Haven't you got any spirit, and you a man, +Andrew Brewster?”</p> + +<p>“I ain't thinking about myself,” said Andrew.</p> + +<p>And he was quite right. Andrew, left to himself and his purely +selfish interests, could have struck with the foremost. He would +never have considered himself when it came to a question of a +conscientious struggle against injustice, though he was so prone to +look upon both sides of an argument that his decision would have been +necessarily slow; but here was Ellen to consider, and she was more +than himself. While he had been, in the depths of his heart, fiercely +jealous of Robert Lloyd, yet the suspicion that his girl might suffer +because of her renunciation of him hurt him to the quick. Ellen had +told him all she had done in the interests of the strike, and he had +no doubt that her action would effectually put an end to all possible +relations between the two. He tried to imagine how a girl would feel, +and being a man, and measuring all passion by the strength of his +own, he exaggerated her suffering. He could eat nothing, and looked +haggard. He remained out-of-doors the greater part of the day. After +he had cleared his own paths, he secured a job clearing some for a +more prosperous neighbor. Andrew in those days grasped eagerly at any +little job which could bring him in a few pennies. He worked until +dark, and when he went home he saw with a great throb of excitement +the Lloyd sleigh waiting before his door.</p> + +<p>Robert had heard from Dennison of Ellen's attitude about the +strike. He had been incredulous at first, as indeed he had been +incredulous about the strike. He had looked out of the office window +with the gaze of one who does not believe what he sees when he had +heard that retreating tramp of the workmen on the stairs.</p> + +<p>“What does all this mean?” he said to Dennison, who +entered, pale to his lips.</p> + +<p>“It means a strike,” replied Dennison. Nellie Stone +rolled her pretty eyes around at the two men from under her fluff of +blond hair. Flynn came in and stood in a curious, non-committal +attitude.</p> + +<p>“A strike!” repeated Robert, vaguely. “What +for?”</p> + +<p>It seemed incredible that he should ask, but he did. The calm +masterfulness of his uncle, which could not even imagine opposition, +had apparently descended upon him.</p> + +<p>Both foremen stared at him. Nellie Stone smiled a little +covertly.</p> + +<p>“Why, you know you had a committee wait upon you last night, +Mr. Lloyd,” replied Dennison.</p> + +<p>Flynn looked out of the window at the retreating throngs of +workmen, and gave a whistle under his breath.</p> + +<p>“Have they struck because of the wage-cutting?” asked +Robert, in a curious, boyish, incredulous, aggrieved tone. Then all +at once he colored violently. “Let them strike, then!” he +cried. He threw himself into a chair and took up the morning paper, +with its glaring headlines about the unprecedented storm, as if +nothing had happened. Nellie Stone, after a sly wink at Flynn, which +he did not return, began writing again. Flynn went out, and Dennison +remained standing in a rather helpless attitude. A strike in Lloyd's +was unprecedented, but this manner of receiving the news was more +unprecedented still. The proprietor was apparently reading the +morning paper with much interest, when two more foremen, heads of +other departments, came hurrying in.</p> + +<p>“I have heard already,” said Robert, in response to +their gasped information. Then he turned another page of the +paper.</p> + +<p>“What's to be done, sir?” said one of the new-comers, +after a prolonged stare at his companion and Dennison. He was a spare +man, with a fierce glimmer of blue eyes under bent brows.</p> + +<p>“Let them strike if they want to,” replied Robert.</p> + +<p>It was in his mind to explain at length to these men his reasons +for cutting the wages—for his own attitude as he knew it +himself was entirely reasonable—but the pride of a proud family +was up in him.</p> + +<p>“The strike would never have been on, for the men went to +work quietly enough, if it hadn't been for that Brewster girl,” +Dennison said, presently, but rather doubtfully. He was not quite +sure how the information would be received.</p> + +<p>Robert dropped his paper, and stared at him with angry +incredulity.</p> + +<p>“What are you talking about?” he said. “What had +Miss Brewster to do with it?”</p> + +<p>He said “Miss Brewster” with a meaning emphasis of +respect, and Dennison was quick to adopt the hint.</p> + +<p>“Oh, nothing,” he replied, uneasily, “only she +talked with them.”</p> + +<p>“You mean that Miss Brewster talked to the men?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; she said a good deal yesterday, and to-day the men +would not have struck if it had not been for her. It only needs a +spark to set them off sometimes.”</p> + +<p>Robert was very pale. “Well,” he said, coolly, +“there is no need for you to remain longer, since the factory +is shut down. You may as well go.”</p> + +<p>“The engineer is seeing to the fires, Mr. Lloyd,” said +Dennison.</p> + +<p>“Very well.” Robert turned to the girl at the desk. +“The factory is closed, Miss Stone,” he said; +“there is no need for you to remain longer to-day. Come +to-morrow at ten o'clock, and I will have something for you to do +with regard to settling up accounts. There is nothing in shape +now.”</p> + +<p>That afternoon Robert went to see Ellen. He could not wait until +evening.</p> + +<p>Fanny greeted him at the door, and there was the inevitable flurry +about lighting the parlor stove, and presently Ellen entered.</p> + +<p>She had changed the gown which she had worn at her factory-work +for her last winter's best one. Her young face was pale, almost +severe, and she met him in a way which made her seem a stranger.</p> + +<p>Robert realized suddenly that she had, as it were, closed the door +upon all their old relations. She seemed years older, and at the same +time indefinably younger, since she was letting the childish +impulses, which are at the heart of all of us untouched by time and +experience, rise rampant and unchecked. She was following the lead of +her own convictions with the terrible unswerving of a child, even in +the face of her own hurt. She was, metaphorically, bumping her own +head against the floor in her vain struggles for mastery over the +mighty conditions of her life.</p> + +<p>She bowed to Robert, and did not seem to see his proffered +hand.</p> + +<p>“Won't you shake hands with me?” he asked, almost +humbly, although his own wrath was beginning to rise.</p> + +<p>“No, I would rather not,” she replied, with a straight +look at him. Her blue eyes did not falter in the least.</p> + +<p>“May I sit down?” he said. “I have something I +would like to say to you.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, if you wish,” she replied. Then she seated +herself on the sofa, with Robert opposite in the crushed-plush +easy-chair.</p> + +<p>The room was still very cold, and the breath could be seen at the +lips of each in white clouds. Robert had on his coat, but Ellen had +nothing over her blue gown. It was on Robert's tongue to ask if she +were not cold, then he refrained. The issues at stake seemed to make +the question frivolous to offensiveness. He felt that any approach to +tenderness when Ellen was in her present mood would invoke an +indignation for which he could scarcely blame her, that he must try +to meet her on equal fighting-ground.</p> + +<p>Ellen sat before him, her little, cold hands tightly folded in her +lap, her mouth set hard, her steady fire of blue eyes on his face, +waiting for him to speak.</p> + +<p>Robert felt a decided awkwardness about beginning to talk. +Suddenly it occurred to him to wonder what there was to say. It +amounted to this: they were in their two different positions, their +two points of view—would either leave for any argument of the +other? Then he wondered if he could, in the face of a girl who wore +an expression like that, stoop to make an argument, for the utter +blindness and deafness of her very soul to any explanation of his +position was too evident in her face.</p> + +<p>“I called to tell you, if you will permit me, how much I +regret the unfortunate state of affairs at the factory,” Robert +said, and the girl's eyes met his as with a flash of flame.</p> + +<p>“Why did you not prevent it, then?” asked she. Ellen +had all the fire of her family, but a steadiness of manner which +never deserted her. She was never violent.</p> + +<p>“I could not prevent it,” replied Robert, in a low +voice.</p> + +<p>Ellen said nothing.</p> + +<p>“You mistake my position,” said Robert. It was in his +mind then to lay the matter fully before her, as he had disdained to +do before the committee, but her next words deterred him.</p> + +<p>“I understand your position very fully,” said she.</p> + +<p>Robert bowed.</p> + +<p>“There is only one way of looking at it,” said Ellen, +in her inexpressibly sweet, almost fanatical voice. She tossed her +head, and the fluff of fair hair over her temples caught a beam of +afternoon sunlight.</p> + +<p>“She is only a child,” thought Robert, looking at her. +He rose and crossed over to the sofa, and sat down beside her with a +masterful impatience. “Look here, Ellen,” he said, +leaving all general issues for their own personal ones, “you +are not going to let this come between us?”</p> + +<p>Ellen sat stiff and straight, and made no reply.</p> + +<p>“All this can make very little difference to you,” +Robert urged. “You know how I feel. That is, it can make very +little difference to you if you still feel as you did. You must know +that I have only been waiting—that I am eager and impatient to +lift you out of it all.”</p> + +<p>Ellen faced him. “Do you think I would be lifted out of it +now?” she said.</p> + +<p>“Why, but, Ellen, you cannot—”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I can. You do not know me.”</p> + +<p>“Ellen, you are under a total misapprehension of my +position.”</p> + +<p>“No, I am not. I apprehend it perfectly.”</p> + +<p>“Ellen, you cannot let this separate us.”</p> + +<p>Ellen looked straight ahead in silence.</p> + +<p>“You at least owe it to me to tell me if, irrespective of +this, your feelings have changed,” Robert said, in a low +voice.</p> + +<p>Ellen said nothing.</p> + +<p>“You may have come to prefer some one else,” said +Robert.</p> + +<p>“I prefer no one before my own, before all these poor people +who are a part of my life,” Ellen cried out, suddenly, her face +flaming.</p> + +<p>“Then why do you refuse to let me act for their final good? +You must know what it means to have them thrown out of work in +midwinter. You know the factory will remain closed for the present on +account of the strike.”</p> + +<p>“I did not doubt it,” said Ellen, in a hard voice. All +the bitter thoughts to which she would not give utterance were in her +voice.</p> + +<p>“I cannot continue to run the factory at the present rate +and meet expenses,” said Robert; “in fact, I have been +steadily losing for the last month.” He had, after all, +descended to explanation. “It amounts to my either reducing the +wage-list or closing the factory altogether,” he continued. +“For my own good I ought to close the factory altogether, but I +thought I would give the men a chance.”</p> + +<p>Robert thought by saying that he must have finally settled +matters. It did not enter his head that she would really think it +advisable for him to continue losing money. The pure childishness of +her attitude was something really beyond the comprehension of a man +of business who had come into hard business theories along with his +uncle's dollars.</p> + +<p>“What if you do lose money?” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>Robert stared at her. “I beg your pardon?” said +he.</p> + +<p>“What if you do lose money?”</p> + +<p>“A man cannot conduct business on such principles,” +replied Robert. “There would soon be no business to conduct. +You don't understand.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do understand fully,” replied Ellen.</p> + +<p>Robert looked at her, at the clear, rosy curve of her young cheek, +the toss of yellow hair above a forehead as candid as a baby's, at +her little, delicate figure, and all at once such a rage of masculine +insistence over all this obstinacy of reasoning was upon him that it +was all he could do to keep himself from seizing her in his arms and +forcing her to a view of his own horizon. He felt himself drawn up in +opposition to an opponent at once too delicate, too unreasoning, and +too beloved to encounter. It seemed as if the absurdity of it would +drive him mad, and yet he was held to it. He tried to give a +desperate wrench aside from the main point of the situation. He +leaned over Ellen, so closely that his lips touched her hair.</p> + +<p>“Ellen, let us leave all this,” he pleaded; “let +me talk to you. I had to wait a little while. I knew you would +understand that, but let me talk to you now.”</p> + +<p>Ellen sat as rigid as marble. “I wish to talk of nothing +besides the matter at hand, Mr. Lloyd,” said she. “That +is too close to my heart for any personal consideration to come +between.”</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter LIV</h3> + +<p>When Robert went home in the winter twilight he was more miserable +than he had ever been in his life. He felt as if he had been +assaulting a beautiful alabaster wall of unreason. He felt as if that +which he could shatter at a blow had yet held him in defiance. The +idea of this girl, of whom he had thought as his future wife, +deliberately setting herself against him, galled him inexpressibly, +and in spite of himself he could not quite free his mind of jealousy. +On his way home he stopped at Lyman Risley's office, and found, to +his great satisfaction, that he was alone, writing at his desk. Even +his stenographer had gone home. He turned around when Robert entered, +and looked at him with his quizzical, yet kindly, smile.</p> + +<p>“Well, how are you, boy?” he said.</p> + +<p>Robert dropped into the first chair, and sat therein, haunched up +as in a lapse of despair and weariness.</p> + +<p>“What is the matter?” asked Risley.</p> + +<p>“You have heard about the trouble in the factory?”</p> + +<p>For answer Risley held up a night's paper with glaring +head-lines.</p> + +<p>“Yes, of course it is in the papers,” assented Robert, +wearily.</p> + +<p>Risley stared at him in a lazily puzzled fashion. +“Well,” he said, “what is it all about? Why are you +so broken up about it?” Risley laid considerable emphasis on +the <em>you</em>.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” cried Robert, in a sudden stress of +indignation. “You look at it like all the rest. Why are all the +laborers to be petted and coddled, and the capitalists held up to +execration? Good Lord, isn't there any pity for the rich man without +his drop of water, in the Bible or out? Are all creation born with +blinders on, and can they only see before their noses?”</p> + +<p>“What are you talking about, Robert?” said Risley, +laughing a little.</p> + +<p>“I say why should all the sympathy go to the workmen who are +acting like the pig-headed idiots they are, and none for the head of +the factory, who has the sharp-edged, red-hot brunt of it all to +bear?”</p> + +<p>“You wouldn't look at it that way if you were one of the +poor men just out on strike such weather as this,” said Risley, +dryly. He glanced as he spoke at the window, which was beginning to +be thickly furred with frost in spite of the heat of the office. +Robert followed his gaze, and noted the spreading fairy jungle of +crystalline trees and flowers on the broad field of glass.</p> + +<p>“Do you think that is the worst thing in the world to +bear?” he demanded, angrily.</p> + +<p>“What? Cold and hunger not only for yourself, but for those +you love?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I think it is pretty bad,” replied Risley.</p> + +<p>“Well, suppose you had to bear that, at least for those you +loved, and—and—” said the young man, lamely.</p> + +<p>Risley remained silent, waiting.</p> + +<p>“If I had been my uncle instead of myself I should simply +have shut down with no ado,” said Robert, presently, in an +angry, argumentative voice.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you would; and as it was?”</p> + +<p>“As it was, I thought I would give them a chance. Good God, +Risley, I have been running the factory at a loss for a month as it +is. With this new wage-list I should no more than make expenses, if I +did that. What was it to me? I did it to keep them in some sort of +work. As for myself, I would much rather have shut down and done with +it, but I tried to keep it running on their account, poor devils, and +now I am execrated for it, and they have deliberately refused what +little I could offer.”</p> + +<p>“Did you explain all this to the committee?” asked +Risley.</p> + +<p>“Explain? No! I told them my course was founded upon strict +business principles, and was as much for their good as for mine. They +understood. They know how hard the times are. Why, it was only last +week that Weeks & McLaughlin failed, and that meant a heavy loss. +I didn't explain.” Then Robert hesitated and colored. “I +have just explained to her,” he said, with a curious hang of +his head, like a boy, “and if my explanation was met in the +same fashion by the others in the factory I might as well have +addressed the north wind. They are all alike; they are a different +race. We cannot help them, and they cannot help themselves, because +they are themselves.”</p> + +<p>“You mean by her, Ellen Brewster?” Risley said.</p> + +<p>Robert nodded gloomily.</p> + +<p>“That is all in the paper,” said +Risley—“what she said to the men.”</p> + +<p>Robert made an impatient move.</p> + +<p>“If ever there was a purely normal outgrowth, a perfect +flower of her birth and environments and training, that girl is +one,” said Risley, with an accent of admiration.</p> + +<p>“She is infected with the ranting idiocy of those with whom +she has been brought in daily contact,” said Robert; but even +as he spoke he seemed to see the girl's dear young face, and his +voice faltered.</p> + +<p>“Even as you may be infected with the conservatism of those +with whom you are brought in contact,” said Risley, dryly.</p> + +<p>“What a democrat you are, Risley!” said Robert, +impatiently. “I believe you would make a good walking +delegate.”</p> + +<p>Risley laughed. “I think I would myself,” he said. +“Wouldn't she listen to you, Robert?”</p> + +<p>“She listened with such utter dissent that she might as well +have been dumb. It is all over between us, Risley.”</p> + +<p>“How precipitate you are, you young folks!” said the +other, good-humoredly.</p> + +<p>“How precipitate? Do you mean to say—?”</p> + +<p>“I mean that you are forever thinking you are on the brink +of nothingness, when the true horizon-line is too far for you ever to +reach in your mortal life.”</p> + +<p>“Not in this case,” said Robert.</p> + +<p>“You know nothing about it. But if you will excuse me, it +seems to me that the matter of all these people being reduced to +starvation in a howling winter is of more importance than the coming +together of two people in the bonds of wedlock. It is the aggregate +against the individual.”</p> + +<p>“I don't deny that,” said Robert, doggedly, “but +I am not responsible for the starvation, and the aggregate have +brought it on themselves.”</p> + +<p>“You have shut down finally?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I have. I would rather shut down than not, as far as I +am concerned. It is distinctly for my interest. The only one +objection is losing experienced workmen, but in a community like +this, and in times like this, that objection is reduced to a minimum. +I can hire all I want in the spring if I wish to open again. I should +run a risk of losing on every order I should have to fill in the next +three months, even with the reduced list. I would rather shut down +than not; I only reduced the wages for them.”</p> + +<p>Robert rose as he spoke. He felt in his heart that he had gotten +scant sympathy and comfort. The older man looked with pity at the +young fellow's handsome, gloomy face.</p> + +<p>“There's one thing to remember,” he said.</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“All the troubles of this world are born with wings.” +Risley laughed, as he spoke, in his half-cynical fashion.</p> + +<p>As Robert walked home—for there was no car due—he felt +completely desolate. It seemed to him that everybody was in league +against him. When he reached his uncle's splendid house and entered, +he felt such an isolation from his kind in the midst of his wealth +that something like an actual terror of solitude came over him.</p> + +<p>The impecunious cousin of his aunt's who had come to her during +her last illness acted as his housekeeper. There was something +inexpressibly irritating about this woman, who had suffered so much, +and was now nestling, with a sense of triumph over the passing of her +griefs, in a luxurious home.</p> + +<p>She asked Robert if it were true that the factory was closed, and +he felt that she noted his gloomy face, and realized a greater extent +of comfort from her own exemption from such questions.</p> + +<p>“Business must be a great care,” said she, and a look +of utter peaceful reflection upon her own lot overspread her +face.</p> + +<p>After supper Robert went down to his aunt Cynthia's. He had not +been there for a long time. The minute he entered she started up with +an eagerness which had been completely foreign to her of late +years.</p> + +<p>“What is the matter, Robert?” she asked, softly. She +took both his hands as she spoke, and her look in his face was full +of delicate caressing.</p> + +<p>Robert succumbed at once to this feminine solicitude, of which he +had had lately so little. He felt as if he had relapsed into +childhood. A sense of injury which was exquisite, as it brought along +with it a sense of his demand upon love and sympathy, seized him.</p> + +<p>“I am worried beyond endurance, Aunt Cynthia,” said +he.</p> + +<p>“About the strike? I have read the night papers.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I tried to do what was right, even at a sacrifice to +myself, and—”</p> + +<p>Cynthia had read about Ellen, but she was a woman, and she said +nothing as to that.</p> + +<p>“I tried to do what was right,” Robert said, fairly +broken down again.</p> + +<p>Cynthia had seated herself, and Robert had taken a low foot-stool +at her side. It came over him as he did so that it had been a +favorite seat of his when a child. As for Cynthia, influenced by the +appealing to the vulnerable place of her nature, she put her slim +hands on her nephew's head, and actually seemed to feel his baby +curls.</p> + +<p>“Poor boy,” she whispered.</p> + +<p>Robert put both his arms around her and hid his face on her +shoulder, for love is a comforter, in whatever guise.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter LV</h3> + +<p>On the day after the strike Ellen went to McGuire's and to +Briggs's, the two other factories in Rowe, to see if she could obtain +a position; but she was not successful. McGuire had discharged some +of his employés, reducing his force to its smallest possible +limits, since he had fewer orders, and was trying in that way to +avert the necessity of a cut in wages, and a strike or shut-down. +McGuire's was essentially a union factory, as was Briggs's. Ellen +would have found in either case difficulty about obtaining +employment, because she did not belong to the union, if for no other +reason. At Briggs's she encountered the proprietor himself in the +office, and he dismissed her with a bluff, almost brutal, +peremptoriness which hurt her cruelly, although she held up her head +high as she left. Briggs turned to a foreman who was standing by +before she was well out of hearing.</p> + +<p>“I like that!” he said. “Mrs. Briggs read about +that girl in the paper last night, and the strike wouldn't have been +on at Lloyd's if it hadn't been for her. I would as soon take a +lighted match into a powder-magazine.”</p> + +<p>The foreman grinned. “She's a pretty, mild-looking +thing,” he said; “doesn't look as if she could say boo to +a goose.”</p> + +<p>“That's all you can tell,” returned Briggs. +“Deliver me from a light-complexioned woman. They're all the +very devil. Mrs. Briggs says it's the same girl that read that +composition that made such a stir at the high-school exhibition. +She'd make more trouble in a factory than a dozen ordinary girls, and +just now, when everything is darned ticklish-looking.”</p> + +<p>“That's so,” assented the foreman, “and all the +more because she's good-looking.”</p> + +<p>“I don't know what you call good-looking,” returned +Briggs.</p> + +<p>He had two daughters, built upon the same heavy lines as himself +and wife, and he adored them. Insensibly he regarded all more +delicate feminine beauty as a disparagement of theirs. As Briggs +spoke, the foreman seemed to see in the air before his eyes the faces +of the two Briggs girls, large and massive, and dull of hue, the +feminine counterpart of their father's.</p> + +<p>“Well, maybe you're right,” said he, evasively. +“I suppose some might call her good-looking.”</p> + +<p>As he spoke he glanced out of the window at Ellen's retreating +figure, moving away over the snow-path with an almost dancing motion +of youth and courage, though she was sorely hurt. The girl had +scarcely ever had a hard word said to her in her whole life, for she +had been in her humble place a petted darling. She had plenty of +courage to bear the hard words now, but they cut deeply into her +unseasoned heart.</p> + +<p>Ellen went on past the factories to the main street of Rowe. She +had no idea of giving up her efforts to obtain employment. She said +to herself that she must have work. She thought of the stores, that +possibly she might obtain a chance to serve as a sales-girl in one of +them. She actually began at the end of the long street, and worked +her way through it, with her useless inquiries, facing proprietors +and superintendents, but with no success. There was not a vacancy in +more than one or two, and there they wished only experienced hands. +She found out that her factory record told against her. The moment +she admitted that she had worked in a factory the cold shoulder was +turned. The position of a shop-girl was so far below that of a +sales-lady that the effect upon the superintendent was almost as if +he had met an unworthy aspirant to a throne. He would smile +insultingly and incredulously, even as he regarded her.</p> + +<p>“You would find that our goods are too fine to handle after +leather. Have you tried all the shops?”</p> + +<p>At last Ellen gave that up, and started homeward. She paused once +as she came opposite an intelligence office. There was one course yet +open to her, but from that she shrank, not on her own account, but +she dared not—knowing what would be the sufferings of her +relatives should she do so—apply for a position as a +servant.</p> + +<p>As for herself, strained as she was to her height of youthful +enthusiasm for a great cause, as she judged it to be, clamping her +feet to the topmost round of her ladder of difficulty, she would have +essayed any honest labor with no hesitation whatever. But she thought +of her father and mother and grandmother, and went on past the +intelligence office.</p> + +<p>When she came to her old school-teacher's—Miss +Mitchell's—house, she paused and hesitated a moment, then she +went up the little path between the snow-banks to the front door, and +rang the bell. The door was opened before the echoes had died away. +Miss Mitchell had seen her coming, and hastened to open it. Miss +Mitchell had not been teaching school for some years, having retired +on a small competency of her savings. Her mortgage was paid, and +there was enough for herself and her mother to live upon, with +infinite care as to details of expenditure. Every postage-stamp and +car-fare had its important part in the school-teacher's system of +economy; but she was quite happy, and her large face wore an +expression of perfect peace and placidity.</p> + +<p>She was a woman who was not tortured by any strong, ungratified +desires. Her allotment of the gifts of the gods quite satisfied +her.</p> + +<p>When Ellen entered the rather stuffy sitting-room—for Miss +Mitchell and her mother were jealous of any breath of cold air after +the scanty fire was kindled—it was like entering into a stratum +of peace. It seemed quite removed from the turmoil of her own life. +The school-teacher's old mother sat in her rocker close to the stove, +stouter than ever, filling up her chair with those wandering curves +and vague outlines which only the over-fleshy human form can assume. +She looked as indefinite as a quivering jelly until one reached her +face. That wore a fixedness of amiability which accentuated the whole +like a high light. She had not seen Ellen for a long time, and she +greeted her with delight.</p> + +<p>“Bless your heart!” said she, in her sweet, throaty, +husky voice. “Go and get her some of them cookies, Fanny, +do.” The old woman's faculties were not in the least impaired, +although she was very old, neither had her hands lost their cunning, +for she still retained her skill in cookery, and prepared the simple +meals for herself and daughter, seated in a high chair at the kitchen +table to roll out pastry or the famous little cookies which Ellen +remembered along with her childhood.</p> + +<p>There was something about these cookies which Miss Mitchell +presently brought to her in a pretty china plate, with a little, +fine-fringed napkin, which was like a morsel of solace to the girl. +With the first sweet crumble of the cake on her plate, she wished to +cry. Sometimes the rush of old, kindly, tender associations will +overcome one who is quite equal to the strain of present emergency. +But she did not cry; she ate her cookies, and confided to Miss +Mitchell and her mother her desire to obtain a position elsewhere, +since her factory-work had failed her. It had occurred to her that +possibly Miss Mitchell, who was on the school-board, might know of a +vacancy in a primary school for the coming spring term, and that she +might obtain it.</p> + +<p>“I think I know enough to teach a primary school,” +Ellen said.</p> + +<p>“Of course you do, bless your heart,” said old Mrs. +Mitchell. “She knows enough to teach any kind of a school, +don't she, Fanny? You get her a school, dear, right away.”</p> + +<p>But Miss Mitchell knew of no probable vacancy, since one young +woman who had expected to be married had postponed her marriage on +account of the strike in Lloyd's, and the consequent throwing out of +employment of her sweetheart. Then, also, Miss Mitchell owned with +hesitation, in response to Ellen's insistent question, that she +supposed that the fact that she had worked in a shop might in any +case interfere with her obtaining a position in a school.</p> + +<p>“There is no sense in it, dear child, I know,” she +said, “but it might be so.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I supposed so,” replied Ellen, bitterly. +“They would all say that a shop-girl had no right to try to +teach school. Well, I'm much obliged to you, Miss +Mitchell.”</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do?” Miss Mitchell asked, +anxiously, following her to the door.</p> + +<p>“I'm going to Mrs. Doty, to get some of the wrappers that +mother works on, until something else turns up,” replied +Ellen.</p> + +<p>“It seems a pity.”</p> + +<p>Ellen smiled bravely. “Beggars mustn't be choosers,” +she said. “If we can only keep along, somehow, I don't +care.”</p> + +<p>There came a vehement pound of a stick on the floor, for that was +the way the old woman in the sitting-room commanded attention. Miss +Mitchell opened the door on a crack, that she might not let in the +cold air.</p> + +<p>“What is it, mother?” she said.</p> + +<p>“You get Ellen a school right away, Fanny.”</p> + +<p>“All right, mother; I'll do my best.”</p> + +<p>“Get her the grammar-school you used to have.”</p> + +<p>“All right, mother.”</p> + +<p>There was something about the imperative solicitude of the old +woman which comforted Ellen in spite of its futility as she went on +her way. The good-will of another human soul, even when it cannot be +resolved into active benefits, has undoubtedly a mighty force of its +own. Ellen, with the sweet of the cookies still lingering on her +tongue, and the sweet of the old woman's kindness in her soul, felt +refreshed as if by some subtle spiritual cake and wine. She even went +to the door of Mrs. Doty's house. Mrs. Doty was the woman who let out +wrappers to her impecunious neighbors with an undaunted heart. She +had no difficulty there. The demand for cheap wrappers was not on the +wane, even in the hard times. When Ellen reached her grandmother's +house, with a great parcel under her arm, Mrs. Zelotes opened her +side door.</p> + +<p>“What have you got there, Ellen Brewster?” she called +out sharply.</p> + +<p>“Some wrappers,” replied Ellen, cheerfully.</p> + +<p>“Are you going to work on wrappers?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, grandma.”</p> + +<p>The door was shut with a loud report.</p> + +<p>When Ellen entered the house and the sitting-room, her mother +looked up from a pink wrapper which she was finishing.</p> + +<p>“What have you got there?” she demanded.</p> + +<p>“Some wrappers.”</p> + +<p>“Why, I haven't finished the last lot.”</p> + +<p>“These are for me to make, mother.”</p> + +<p>Andrew got up and went out of the room. Fanny shut her mouth hard, +and drew her thread through with a jerk.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she said, in a second, “take off your +things, and let me show you how to start on them. There's a little +knack about it.”</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter LVI</h3> + +<p>That was a hard winter for Rowe. Aside from the financial stress, +the elements seemed to conspire against the people who were so +ill-prepared to meet their fury. It was the coldest winter which had +been known for years; coal was higher, and the poor people had less +coal to burn. Storm succeeded storm; then, when there came a warm +spell, there was an epidemic of the grippe, and doctors' bills to pay +and quinine to buy—and quinine was very dear.</p> + +<p>The Brewsters managed to keep up the interest on the house +mortgage, but their living expenses were reduced to the smallest +possible amount. In those days there was no wood laid ready for +kindling in the parlor stove, since there was neither any wood to +spare nor expectation of Robert's calling. Ellen and her mother sat +in the dining-room, for even the sitting-room fire had been +abolished, and they heated the dining-room whenever the weather +admitted it from the kitchen stove, and worked on the wrappers for +their miserable pittance.</p> + +<p>The repeated storms were in a way a boon to Andrew, since he got +many jobs clearing paths, and thus secured a trifle towards the daily +expenses.</p> + +<p>In those days Mrs. Zelotes watched the butcher-cart anxiously when +it stopped before her son's house, and she knew just what a tiny bit +of meat was purchased, and how seldom. On the days when the cart +moved on without any consultation at the tail thereof, the old woman +would buy an extra portion, cook it, and carry some over to her +son's.</p> + +<p>Times grew harder and harder. Few of the operatives who had struck +in Lloyd's succeeded in obtaining employment elsewhere, and most of +them joined the union to enable them to do so. There was actual +privation. One evening, when the strike was some six weeks old, Abby +Atkins came over in a pouring rain to see Ellen. There were a number +of men in the dining-room that night. Amos Lee and Frank Dixon were +among them. It was a singular thing that Andrew, taking, as he had +done, no active part in any rebellion against authority, should have +come to see his house the headquarters for the rallies of dissension. +Men seemed to come to Andrew Brewster's for the sake of bolstering +themselves up in their hard position of defiance against tremendous +odds, though he sat by and seldom said a word. As for Ellen, she and +her mother on these occasions sat out in the kitchen, sewing on the +endless seams of the endless wrappers. Sometimes it seemed to the +girl as if wrappers enough were being made to clothe not only the +present, but future generations of poor women. She seemed to see +whole armies of hopeless, overburdened women, all arrayed in these +slouching garments, crowding the foreground of the world.</p> + +<p>That evening little Amabel, who had developed a painful desire to +make herself useful, having divined the altered state of the family +finances, was pulling out basting-threads, with a puckered little +face bent over her work. She was a very thin child, but there was an +incisive vitality in her, and somehow Fanny and Ellen contrived to +keep her prettily and comfortably clothed.</p> + +<p>“I've got to do my duty by poor Eva's child, if I +starve,” Fanny often said.</p> + +<p>When the side door opened, Ellen and her mother thought it was +another man come to swell the company in the dining-room.</p> + +<p>“It beats all how men like to come and sit round and talk +over matters; for my part, I 'ain't got any time to talk; I've got to +work,” remarked Fanny.</p> + +<p>“That's so,” rejoined Ellen. She looked curiously like +her mother that night, and spoke like her. In her heart she echoed +the sarcasm to the full. She despised those men for sitting hour +after hour in a store, or in the house of some congenial spirit, or +standing on a street corner, and talking—talking, she was sure, +to no purpose. As for herself, she had done what she thought right; +she had, as it were, cut short the thread of her happiness of life +for the sake of something undefined and rather vague, and yet as +mighty in its demands for her allegiance as God. And it was done, and +there was no use in talking about it. She had her wrappers to make. +However, she told herself, extenuatingly, “Men can't sew, so +they can't work evenings. They are better off talking here than they +would be in the billiard-saloon.” Ellen, at that time of her +life, had a slight, unacknowledged feeling of superiority over men of +her own class. She regarded them very much as she regarded children, +with a sort of tolerant good-will and contempt. Now, suddenly, she +raised her head and listened. “That isn't another man, it's a +woman—it's Abby,” she said to her mother.</p> + +<p>“She wouldn't come out in all this rain,” replied +Fanny. As she spoke, a great, wind-driven wash of it came over the +windows.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is,” said Ellen, and she jumped up and opened +the dining-room door.</p> + +<p>Abby had entered, as was her custom, without knocking. She had +left her dripping umbrella in the entry, and her old hat was +flattened on to her head with wet, and several damp locks of her hair +straggled from under it and clung to her thin cheeks. She still held +up her wet skirts around her, as she had held them out-of-doors, but +she was gesticulating violently with her other hand. She was +repeating what she had said before. Ellen had heard her indistinctly +through the door.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I mean just what I say,” she cried. “Get +up and go to work, if you are men! Stop hanging around stores and +corners, and talking about the tyranny of the rich, and go to work, +and make them pay you something for it, anyhow. This has been kept up +long enough. Get up and go to work, if you don't want those belonging +to you to starve.”</p> + +<p>Abby caught sight of Ellen, pale and breathless, in the door, with +her mother looking over her shoulder, and she addressed her with +renewed violence. “Come here, Ellen,” she said, +“and put yourself on my side. We've got to give in.”</p> + +<p>“You go away,” cried little Amabel, in a shrill voice, +looking around Ellen's arm; but nobody paid any attention to her.</p> + +<p>“I never will,” returned Ellen, with a great flash, +but her voice trembled.</p> + +<p>“You've got to,” said Abby. “I tell you there's +no other way.”</p> + +<p>“I'll die before I give up,” cried Lee, in a loud, +threatening voice.</p> + +<p>“I'm with ye,” said Tom Peel.</p> + +<p>Dixon and the young laster who sat beside him looked at each +other, but said nothing. Dixon wrinkled his forehead over his +pipe.</p> + +<p>“Then you'd better go to work quick, before some that I know +of, who are enough sight better worth saving than you are, +starve,” replied Abby, unshrinkingly. “If I could I would +go to Lloyd's and open it on my own account to-morrow. I believe in +bravery, but nothing except fools and swine jump over +precipices.”</p> + +<p>Abby passed through the room, sprinkling rain-drops from her +drenched skirts, and went into the kitchen with Ellen. Fanny cast an +angry glance at her, then a solicitous one at her dripping +garments.</p> + +<p>“Abby Atkins, you haven't got any rubbers on,” said +she.</p> + +<p>“Rubbers!” repeated Abby.</p> + +<p>“You just slip off those wet skirts, and Amabel will fetch +you down Ellen's old black petticoat and brown dress. +Amabel—”</p> + +<p>But Abby seated herself peremptorily before the kitchen stove and +extended one soaked little foot in its shabby boot. “I'm past +thinking or caring about wet skirts,” said she. “Good +Lord, what do wet skirts matter? We can't make wrappers any longer. +We had to sell the sewing-machine yesterday to pay the rent or be +turned out, and we haven't got a thing to eat in the house except +potatoes and a little flour. We haven't had any meat for a week. Nice +fare for a man like poor father and a girl like Maria! We have come +down to the kitchen fire like you, but we can't keep it burning as +late as this. The rest went to bed an hour ago to keep warm. Maria +has got more cold. She did seem better one spell, but now she's worse +again. Our chamber is freezing cold, and we haven't had a fire in it +since the strike. John Sargent has ransacked every town within twenty +miles for work, but he can't get any, and his sick sister keeps +sending to him for money. He looks as if he was just about done, too. +He went off somewhere after supper. A great supper! He don't smoke a +pipe nowadays. Father don't get the medicine he ought to have, and +that cold spell he just about perished for a little whiskey. The +bedroom was like ice with no fire in the sitting-room, and he didn't +sleep warm. It's one awful thing after another happening. Did you +know Mamie Brady took laudanum last night?”</p> + +<p>“Good land!” said Fanny.</p> + +<p>“Yes, she did. Ed Flynn has been playing fast and loose with +her for a long time, and she's none too well balanced, and when it +came to her not having enough to eat, and to keep her warm, and her +mother nagging at her all the time—you know what an awful hard +woman her mother is—she got desperate. She gulped it down when +the last car went past and Ed Flynn hadn't come; she had been +watchin' out for him; then she told her mother, and her mother shook +her, then run for Dr. Fox, and he called in Dr. Lord, and they worked +with a stomach-pump till morning, and she isn't out of danger yet. +Then that isn't all. Willy Jones's mother is failing. He was over to +our house last evening, telling us about it, and he fairly cried, +poor boy. He said he actually could not get her what she needed to +make her comfortable this awful winter. It was all he could do with +odd jobs to keep the roof over their heads, that she hadn't actually +enough to eat and keep her warm. It seemed as if he would die when he +told about it. And that isn't all. Those little Blake children next +door are fairly starving. They are going around to the neighbors' +swill-buckets—it's a fact—just like little hungry dogs, +and it's precious little they find in them. Mrs. Wetherhed has let +her sewing-machine go, and Edward Morse is going to be sold out for +taxes. And that isn't all.” Abby lowered her voice a little. +She cast an apprehensive glance at the door of the other room, and at +Amabel. “Mamie Bemis has gone to the bad. I had it straight. +She's in Boston. She didn't have enough to pay for her board, and got +desperate. I know her sister did wrong, but that was no reason why +she should have, and I don't believe she would if it hadn't been for +the strike. It's all on account of the strike. There's no use +talking: before the sparrow flies in the eyes of the tiger, he'd +better count the cost.”</p> + +<p>Fanny, quite white, stood staring from Abby to Ellen, and back +again.</p> + +<p>Amabel was holding fast to a fold of Ellen's skirt. Ellen looked +rigid.</p> + +<p>“I knew it all before,” she said, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Abby jumped up and caught the other girl in a fierce +embrace. “Ellen,” she sobbed—“Ellen, isn't +there any way out of it? I can't see—”</p> + +<p>Ellen freed herself from Abby with a curious imperative yet gentle +motion, then she opened the door into the other room again. The loud +clash of voices hushed, and every man faced towards her standing on +the threshold, with her mother and Abby and little Amabel in the +background. “I want to say to you all,” said Ellen, in a +clear voice, “that I think I did wrong. I have been wondering +if I had not for some time, and growing more and more certain. I did +not count the cost. All I thought of was the principle, but the cost +is a part of the principle in this world, and it has to be counted in +with it. I see now. I don't think the strike ought ever to have been. +It has brought about too much suffering upon those who were not +responsible for it, who did not choose it of their own free will. +There are children starving, and people dying and breaking their +hearts. We have brought too much upon ourselves and others. I am +sorry I said what I did in the shop that day, if I influenced any +one. Now I am not going to strike any longer. Let us all accept Mr. +Lloyd's terms, and go back to work.”</p> + +<p>But Ellen's voice was drowned out in a great shout of wrath and +dissent from Lee. He directly leaped to the conclusion that the girl +took this attitude on account of Lloyd, and his jealousy, which was +always smouldering, flamed.</p> + +<p>“Well, I guess not!” he shouted. “I rather guess +not! I've struck, and I'm going to stay struck! I ain't goin' to back +out because a girl likes the boss, damn him!”</p> + +<p>Andrew and the young laster rose and moved quietly before Ellen. +Tom Peel said nothing, but he grinned imperturbably.</p> + +<p>“I 'ain't had a bit of tobacco, and the less said about what +I've had to eat the better,” Lee went on, in a loud, +threatening voice, “but I ain't going to give up. No, miss; +you've het up the fightin' blood in me, and it ain't so easy coolin' +of it down.”</p> + +<p>The door opened, and Granville Joy entered. He had knocked several +times, but nobody had heard him. He looked inquiringly from one to +another, then moved beside Andrew and the laster.</p> + +<p>Dixon got up. “It looks to me as if it was too soon to be +giving up now,” he said.</p> + +<p>“It's easy for a man who's got nobody dependent upon him to +talk,” cried Abby.</p> + +<p>“I won't give up!” cried Dixon, looking straight at +Ellen, and ignoring Abby.</p> + +<p>“That's so,” said Lee. “We don't give up our +rights for bosses, or bosses' misses.”</p> + +<p>As he said that there was a concerted movement of Andrew, the +laster, and Granville. Granville was much slighter than Lee, but +suddenly his right arm shot out, and the other man went down like a +log. Andrew followed him up with a kick.</p> + +<p>“Get out of my house,” he shouted, “and never +set foot in it again! Out with ye!”</p> + +<p>Lee was easily cowed. He did not attempt to make any resistance, +but gathered himself up, muttering, and moved before the three into +the entry, where he had left his coat and hat. Dixon and Peel +followed him. When the door was shut, Ellen turned to the others, +with a quieting hand on Amabel's head, who was clinging to her, +trembling.</p> + +<p>“I think it will be best to talk to John Sargent,” +said she. “I think a committee had better be appointed to wait +upon Mr. Lloyd again, and ask him to open the factory. I'm not going +to strike any longer.”</p> + +<p>“I'm sure I'm not,” said Abby.</p> + +<p>“Abby and I are not going to strike any longer,” said +Ellen, in an indescribably childlike way, which yet carried enormous +weight with it.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter LVII</h3> + +<p>Ellen had not arrived at her decision with regard to the strike as +suddenly as it may have seemed. All winter, ever since the strike, +Ellen had been wondering, not whether the principle of the matter was +correct or not, that she never doubted; she never swerved in her +belief concerning the cruel tyranny of the rich and the helpless +suffering of the poor, and their good reason for making a stand, but +she doubted more and more the wisdom of it. She used to sit for hours +up in her chamber after her father and mother had gone to bed, +wrapped up in an old shawl against the cold, resting her elbows on +the window-sill and her chin on her two hands, staring out into the +night, and reflecting. Her youthful enthusiasm carried her like a +leaping-pole to conclusions beyond her years. “I wonder,” +she said to herself, “if, after all, this inequality of +possessions is not a part of the system of creation, if the righting +of them is not beyond the flaming sword of the Garden of Eden? I +wonder if the one who tries to right them forcibly is not meddling, +and usurping the part of the Creator, and bringing down wrath and +confusion not only upon his own head, but upon the heads of others? I +wonder if it is wise, in order to establish a principle, to make +those who have no voice in the matter suffer for it—the +helpless women and children?” She even thought with a sort of +scornful sympathy of Sadie Peel, who could not have her nearseal +cape, and had not wished to strike. She reflected, as she had done so +many times before, that the world was very old—thousands of +years old—and inequality was as old as the world. Might it not +even be a condition of its existence, the shifting of weights which +kept it to its path in the scheme of the universe? And yet always she +went back to her firm belief that the strikers were right, and +always, although she loved Robert Lloyd, she denounced him. Even when +it came to her abandoning her position with regard to the strike, she +had not the slightest thought of effecting thereby a reconciliation +with Robert.</p> + +<p>For the first time, that night when she had gone to bed, after +announcing her determination to go back to work, she questioned her +affection for Robert. Before she had always admitted it to herself +with a sort of shamed and angry dignity. “Other women feel so +about men, and why should I not?” she had said; “and I +shall never fail to keep the feeling behind more important +things.” She had accepted the fact of it with childlike +straightforwardness as she accepted all other facts of life, and now +she wondered if she really did care for him so much. She thought over +and over everything Abby had said, and saw plainly before her mental +vision those poor women parting with their cherished possessions, the +little starving children snatching at the refuse-buckets at the +neighbors' back doors. She saw with incredulous shame, and something +between pity and scorn, Mamie Bemis, who had gone wrong, and Mamie +Brady, who had taken her foolish, ill-balanced life in her own hands. +She remembered every word which she had said to the men on the +morning of the strike, and how they had started up and left their +machines. “I did it all,” she told herself. “I am +responsible for it all—all this suffering, for those hungry +little children, for that possible death, for the ruin of another +girl.” Then she told herself, with a stern sense of justice, +that back of her responsibility came Robert Lloyd's. If he had not +cut the wages it would never have been. It seemed to her that she +almost hated him, and that she could not wait to strive to undo the +harm which she had done. She could not wait for morning to come.</p> + +<p>She lay awake all night in a fever of impatience. When she went +down-stairs her eyes were brilliant, there were red spots on her +cheeks, her lips were tense, her whole face looked as if she were +strained for some leap of action. She took hold of everything she +touched with a hard grip. Her father and mother kept watching her +anxiously. Directly after breakfast Ellen put on her hat and +coat.</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do?” asked Fanny.</p> + +<p>“I am going over to see John Sargent, and ask him to get +some other men and go to see Mr. Lloyd, and tell him we are willing +to go to work again,” replied Ellen.</p> + +<p>Ellen discovered, when she reached the Atkins house, that John +Sargent had already resolved upon his course of action.</p> + +<p>“The first thing he said when he came in last night was that +he couldn't stand it any longer, and he was going to see the others, +and go to Lloyd, and ask him to open the shop on his own +terms,” said Abby. “I told him how we felt about +it.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am ready to go back whenever the factory is +opened,” said Ellen. “I am glad he has gone.”</p> + +<p>Ellen did not remain long. She was anxious to return and finish +some wrappers she had on hand. Abby promised to go over and let her +know the result of the interview with Lloyd.</p> + +<p>It was not until evening that Abby came over, and John Sargent +with her. Lloyd had not been at home in the morning, and they had +been forced to wait until late afternoon. The two entered the +dining-room, where Ellen and her mother sat at work.</p> + +<p>Abby spoke at once, and to the point. “Well,” said +she, “the shop's going to be opened to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“On what terms?” asked Ellen.</p> + +<p>“On the boss's, of course,” replied Abby, in a hard +voice.</p> + +<p>“It's the only thing to do,” said Sargent, with a sort +of stolid assertion. “If we are willing to be crushed under the +Juggernaut of principle, we haven't any right to force others under, +and that's what we are doing.”</p> + +<p>“Bread without butter is better than no bread at all,” +said Abby. “We've got to live in the sphere in which Providence +has placed us.” The girl said “Providence” with a +sarcastic emphasis.</p> + +<p>Andrew was looking at Sargent. “Do you think there will be +any trouble?” he asked.</p> + +<p>Sargent hesitated, with a glance at Fanny. “I don't know; I +hope not,” said he. “Lee and Dixon are opposed to giving +in, and they are talking hard to-night in the store. Then some of the +men have joined the union since the strike, and of course they swear +by it, because it has been helping them, and they won't approve of +giving up. But I doubt if there will be much trouble. I guess the +majority want to go to work, even the union men. The amount of it is, +it has been such a tough winter it has taken the spirit out of the +poor souls.” Sargent, evidently, in yielding was resisting +himself.</p> + +<p>“You don't think there will be any danger?” Fanny +said, anxiously, looking at Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Oh no, there's no danger for the girls, anyhow. I guess +there's enough men to look out for them. There's no need for you to +worry, Mrs. Brewster.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Lloyd did not offer to do anything better about the +wages?” asked Ellen.</p> + +<p>Sargent shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Catch him!” said Abby, bitterly.</p> + +<p>Ellen had a feeling as if she were smiting in the face that image +of Robert which always dwelt in her heart.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Abby, with a mirthless laugh, +“there's one thing: according to the Scriptures, it is as hard +for the rich man to get into heaven as it is for the poor men to get +into their factories.”</p> + +<p>“You don't suppose there will be any danger?” Fanny +said again, anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Danger—no; who's afraid of Amos Lee and a few like +him?” cried Abby, contemptuously; “and Nahum Beals is +safe. He's going to be tried next month, they say, but they'll make +it imprisonment for life, because they think he wasn't in his right +mind. If he was here we might be afraid, but there's nobody now that +will do anything but talk. I ain't afraid. I'm going to march up to +the shop to-morrow morning and go to work, and I'd like to see +anybody stop me.”</p> + +<p>However, before they left, John Sargent spoke aside with Andrew, +and told him of a plan for the returning workmen to meet at the +corner of a certain street, and go in a body to the factory, and +suggested that there might be pickets posted by the union men, and +Andrew resolved to go with Ellen.</p> + +<p>The next morning the rain had quite ceased, and there was a faint +something, rather a reminiscence than a suggestion, of early spring +in the air. People caught themselves looking hard at the elm branches +to see if they were acquiring the virile fringe of spring or if their +eyes deceived them, and wondered, with respect to the tips of maple +and horse-chestnut branches, whether or not they were swollen red and +glossy. Sometimes they sniffed incredulously when a soft gust of +south wind seemed laden with fresh blossom fragrance.</p> + +<p>“I declare, if I didn't know better, I should think I +smelled apple blossoms,” said Maria.</p> + +<p>“Stuff!” returned Abby. She was marching along with an +alert, springy motion of her lean little body. She was keenly alive +to the situation, and scented something besides apple blossoms. She +had tried to induce Maria to remain at home. “I don't know but +there'll be trouble, and if there is, you'll be just in the +way,” she told her before they left the house, but not in their +parents' hearing.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don't believe there'll be any. Folks will be too glad +to get back to work,” replied Maria. She had a vein of +obstinacy, gentle as she was; then, too, she had a reason which no +one suspected for wishing to be present. She would not yield when +John Sargent begged her privately not to go. It was just because she +was afraid there might be trouble, and he was going to be in it, that +she could not bear to stay at home herself.</p> + +<p>Andrew had insisted upon accompanying Ellen in spite of her +remonstrances. “I've got an errand down to the store,” he +said, evasively; but Ellen understood.</p> + +<p>“I don't think there is any danger, and there wouldn't be +any danger for me—not for the girls, sure,” she said; but +he persisted.</p> + +<p>“Don't you say a word to your mother to scare her,” he +whispered. But they had not been gone long before Fanny followed +them, Mrs. Zelotes watching her furtively from a window as she went +by.</p> + +<p>All the returning employés met, as agreed upon, at the +corner of a certain street, and marched in a solid body towards +Lloyd's. The men insisted upon placing the girls in the centre of +this body, although some of them rebelled, notably Sadie Peel. She +was on hand, laughing and defiant.</p> + +<p>“I guess I ain't afraid,” she proclaimed. +“Father's keepin' on strikin', but I guess he won't see his own +daughter hurt; and now I'm goin' to have my nearseal cape, if it is +late in the season. They're cheaper now, that's one good thing. On +some accounts the strike has been a lucky thing for me.” She +marched along, swinging her arms jauntily. Ellen and Maria and Abby +were close together. Andrew was on the right of Ellen, Granville Joy +behind; the young laster, who had called so frequently evenings, was +with him. John Sargent and Willy Jones were on the left. They all +walked in the middle of the street like an army. It was covertly +understood that there might be trouble. Some of the younger men from +time to time put hands on their pockets, and a number carried stout +sticks.</p> + +<p>The first intimation of disturbance came when they met an +electric-car, and all moved to one side to let it pass. The car was +quite full of people going to another town, some thirty miles +distant, to work in a large factory there. Nearly every man and woman +on the car belonged to the union.</p> + +<p>As this car slid past a great yell went up from the occupants; men +on the platforms swung their arms in execration and derision. +“Sc-ab, sc-ab!” they called. A young fellow leaped from +the rear platform, caught up a stone and flung it at the returning +Lloyd men, but it went wide of its mark. Then he was back on the +platform with a running jump, and one of the Lloyd men threw a stone, +which missed him. The yell of “Scab, scab!” went up with +renewed vigor, until it died out of hearing along with the rumble of +the car.</p> + +<p>“Sometimes I wish I had joined the union and stuck it +out,” said one of the Lloyd men, gloomily.</p> + +<p>“For the Lord's sake, don't show the white feather +now!” cried a young fellow beside him, who was striding on with +an eager, even joyous outlook. He had fighting blood, and it was up, +and he took a keen delight in the situation.</p> + +<p>“It's easy to talk,” grumbled the other man. “I +don't know but all our help lies in the union, and we've been a pack +of fools not to go in with them, because we hoped Lloyd would weaken +and take us back. He hasn't weakened; we've had to. Good God, them +that's rich have it their own way!”</p> + +<p>“I'd have joined the union in a minute, and got a job, and +got my nearseal cape, if it hadn't been for father,” said Sadie +Peel, with a loud laugh. “But, my land! if father'd caught me +joinin' the union I dun'no' as there would have been anything left of +me to wear the cape.”</p> + +<p>They all marched along with no disturbance until they reached the +corner of the street into which they had to turn in order to approach +Lloyd's. There they were confronted by a line of pickets, stationed +there by the union, and the real trouble began. Yells of “Scab, +scab!” filled the air.</p> + +<p>“Good land, I ain't no more of a scab than you be!” +shrieked Sadie Peel, in a loud, angry voice. “Scab yourself! +Touch me if you dasse!”</p> + +<p>Many young men among the returning force had stout sticks in their +hands. Granville Joy was one of them. Andrew, who was quite unarmed, +pressed in before Ellen. Granville caught him by the arm and tried to +draw him back.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Mr. Brewster,” he said, “you keep in +the background a little. I am young and strong, and here are Sargent +and Mendon. You'd better keep back.”</p> + +<p>But Ellen, with a spring which was effectual because so utterly +uncalculated, was before Granville and her father, and them all. She +reasoned it out in a second that she was responsible for the strike, +and that she would be in the front of whatever danger there was in +consequence. Her slight little figure passed them all before they +knew what she was doing. She was in the very front of the little +returning army. She saw the threatening faces of the pickets; she +half turned, and waved an arm of encouragement, like a general in a +battle. “Strike if you want to,” she cried out, in her +sweet young voice. “If you want to kill a girl for going back +to work to save herself and her friends from starvation, do it. I am +not afraid! But kill me, if you must kill anybody, because I am the +one that started the strike. Strike if you want to.”</p> + +<div align="center"> +<a href="images/plimage8.jpg"> +<img src="images/plimage8.jpg" width="595" height="486" +alt="If you want to kill a girl for going back to work to save herself from starvation, do it!"></a> +</div> + +<p>The opposing force moved aside with an almost imperceptible +motion. Ellen looked like a beautiful child, her light hair tossed +around her rosy face, her eyes full of the daring of perfect +confidence. She in reality did not feel one throb of fear. She passed +the picket-line, and turned instinctively and marched backward with +her blue eyes upon them all. Abby Atkins sprang forward to Ellen's +side, with Sargent and Joy and Willy Jones and Andrew. Andrew kept +calling to Ellen to come back, but she did not heed him.</p> + +<p>The little army was several rods from the pickets before a shot +rang out, but that was fired into the air. However, it was followed +by a fierce clamor of “Scab” and a shower of stones, +which did little harm. The Lloyds marched on without a word, except +from Sadie Peel. She turned round with a derisive shout.</p> + +<p>“Scab yourselves!” she shrieked. “You dassen't +fire at me. You're scabs yourselves, you be!”</p> + +<p>“Scabs, scabs!” shouted the men, moving forward.</p> + +<p>“Scab yourself!” shouted Sadie Peel.</p> + +<p>Abby Atkins caught hold of her arm and shook her violently. +“Shut up, can't you, Sadie Peel,” she said.</p> + +<p>“I'll shut up when I get ready, Abby Atkins! I ain't afraid +of them if you be. They dassen't hit me. Scab, scab!” the girl +yelled back, with a hysteric laugh.</p> + +<p>“Don't that girl know anything?” growled a man behind +her.</p> + +<p>“Shut up, Sadie Peel,” said Abby Atkins.</p> + +<p>“I ain't afraid if you be, and I won't shut up till I get +ready, for you or anybody else. I'm goin' to have my nearseal cape! +Hi!”</p> + +<p>“I ain't afraid,” said Abby, contemptuously, +“but I've got sense.”</p> + +<p>Maria pressed close to Sadie Peel. “Please do keep still, +Sadie,” she pleaded. “Let us get into the factory as +quietly as we can. Think, if anybody was hurt.”</p> + +<p>“I ain't afraid,” shrieked the girl, with a toss of +her red fringe, and she laughed like a parrot. Abby Atkins gripped +her arm so fiercely that she made her cry out with pain. “If +you don't keep still!” she said, threateningly.</p> + +<p>Willy Jones was walking as near as he could, and he carried his +right arm half extended, as if to guard her. Now and then Abby turned +and gave him a push backward.</p> + +<p>“They won't trouble us girls, and you might as well let us +and the men that have sticks go first,” she said in a +whisper.</p> + +<p>“If you think—” began the young fellow, +coloring.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I know you ain't afraid,” said Abby, “but +you've got your mother to think of, and there's no use in running +into danger.”</p> + +<p>The pickets were gradually left behind; they were, in truth, +half-hearted. Many of them had worked in Lloyd's, and had small mind +to injure their old comrades. They were not averse to a great show of +indignation and bluster, but when it came to more they hesitated.</p> + +<p>Presently the company came into the open space before Lloyd's. +Robert and Lyman Risley and several foremen were standing at the foot +of the stairs. The windows of the factory were filled with faces, and +derisive cries came from them. Lloyd's tall shaft of chimney was +plumed with smoke. The employés advanced towards the stairs, +when suddenly Amos Lee, Dixon, and a dozen others appeared, coming +with a rush from around a corner of the building, and again the air +was filled with the cry of “Scab!” Ellen and Abby linked +arms and sprang forward before the men with an impetuous rush, with +Joy and Willy Jones and Andrew following. Ellen, as she rushed on +towards the factory stairs, was conscious of no fear at all, but +rather of a sort of exaltation of courage. It did not really occur to +her that she could be hurt, that it could be in the heart of Lee or +Dixon, or any of them, actually to harm her. She was throbbing and +intense with indignation and resolution. Into that factory to her +work she was bound to go. All that intimidated her in the least was +the fear for her father. She rushed as fast as she could that her +father might not get before her and be hurt in some way.</p> + +<p>“Scab! scab!” shouted Lee and the others.</p> + +<p>“Scab yourself!” shrieked Sadie Peel. Her father was +one of the opposing party, and that gave her perfect audacity. +“Look out you don't hit me, dad,” she cried to him. +“I'm goin' to get my nearseal cape. Don't you hit your +daughter, Tom Peel!” She raced on with a sort of hoppity-skip. +She caught a young man near her by the arm and forced him into the +same dancing motion.</p> + +<p>They were at the foot of the stairs, when Robert, watching, saw +Lee with a pistol in his hand aim straight at Ellen. He sprang before +her, but Risley was nearer, and the shot struck him. When Risley +fell, a great cry, it would have been difficult to tell whether of +triumph or horror, went up from the open windows of the other +factories, and men came swarming out. Lee and his companions +vanished.</p> + +<p>A great crowd gathered around Risley until the doctors came and +ordered them away, and carried him in the ambulance to the hospital. +He was not dead, but evidently very seriously injured.</p> + +<p>When the ambulance had rolled out of sight, the Lloyd +employés entered the factory, and the hum of machinery +began.</p> + +<p>Fanny and Andrew stood together before the factory after Ellen had +entered. Andrew had started when he had seen his wife.</p> + +<p>“You here?” he said.</p> + +<p>“I rather guess I'm here,” returned Fanny. “Do +you s'pose I was goin' to stay at home, and not know whether you and +her were shot dead or not?”</p> + +<p>“I guess it's all safe now,” said Andrew. He was very +pale. He looked at the blood-stained place where Lyman Risley had +lain. “It's awful work,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Who did it?” asked Fanny, sharply. “I heard the +shot just before I got here.”</p> + +<p>“I don't know for sure, and guess it's better I +don't,” replied Andrew, sternly.</p> + +<p>Then all at once as they stood there a woman came up with a swift, +gliding motion and a long trail of black skirts straight to Fanny, +who was the only woman there. There were still a great many men and +boys standing about. The woman, Cynthia Lennox, caught Fanny's arm +with a nervous grip. Her finely cut face was very white under the +nodding plumes of her black bonnet.</p> + +<p>“Is he in there?” she asked, in a strained voice, +pointing to the shop.</p> + +<p>Fanny stared at her. She was half dazed. She did not know whether +she was referring to the wounded man or Robert.</p> + +<p>Andrew was quicker in his perceptions.</p> + +<p>“They carried him off to the hospital in the +ambulance,” he told her. Then he added, as gently as if he had +been addressing Ellen: “I guess he wasn't hurt so very bad. He +came to before they took him away.”</p> + +<p>“You don't know anything about it,” Fanny said, +sharply. “I heard them say something about his eyes.”</p> + +<p>“His eyes!” gasped Cynthia. She held tightly to Fanny, +who looked at her with a sudden passion of sympathy breaking through +her curiosity.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I guess he wasn't hurt so very bad; he <em>did</em> +come to. I heard him speak,” she said, soothingly. She laid her +hard hand over Cynthia's slim one.</p> + +<p>“They took him to the hospital?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, in the ambulance.”</p> + +<p>“Is—my nephew in there?”</p> + +<p>“No; he went with him.”</p> + +<p>Cynthia looked at the other woman with an expression of utter +anguish and pleading.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” said Fanny; “the hospital ain't +very far from here. Suppose we go up there and ask how he is? We +could call out your nephew.”</p> + +<p>“Will you go with me?” asked Cynthia, with a +heart-breaking gasp.</p> + +<p>If Ellen could have seen her at that moment, she would have +recognized her as the woman whom she had known in her childhood. She +was an utter surprise to Fanny, but her sympathy leaped to meet her +need like the steel to the magnet.</p> + +<p>“Of course I will,” she said, heartily.</p> + +<p>“I would,” said Andrew—“I would go with +her, Fanny.”</p> + +<p>“Of course I will,” said Fanny; “and you had +better go home, I guess, Andrew, and see how I left the kitchen fire. +I don't know but the dampers are all wide open.”</p> + +<p>Fanny and Cynthia hastened in one direction towards the hospital, +and Andrew towards home; but he paused for a minute, and looked +thoughtfully up at the humming pile of Lloyd's. The battle was over +and the strike was ended. He drew a great sigh, and went home to see +to the kitchen fire.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter LVIII</h3> + +<p>Lyman Risley was very seriously injured. There was, as the men had +reported, danger for his eyes. When Robert was called into the +reception-room of the hospital to see his aunt, he scarcely +recognized her. Her soft, white hair was tossed about her temples, +her cheeks were burning. She ran up to him like an eager child and +clutched his arm.</p> + +<p>“How is he?” she demanded. “Tell me +quick!”</p> + +<p>“They are doing everything they can for him. Why, don't, +poor Aunt Cynthia!”</p> + +<p>“His eyes, they said—”</p> + +<p>“I hope he will come out all right. Don't, dear Aunt +Cynthia.” The young man put his arm around his aunt and spoke +soothingly, blushing like a girl before this sudden revelation of an +under-stratum of delicacy in a woman's heart.</p> + +<p>Cynthia lost control of herself completely; or, rather, the true +self of her rose uppermost, shattering the surface ice of her +reserve. “Oh,” she said—“oh, if he—if +he is—blind, if he is—I—I—will lead him +everywhere all the rest of his life; I will, Robert.”</p> + +<p>“Of course you will, dear Aunt Cynthia,” replied +Robert, soothingly.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Cynthia's face took on a new expression. She looked at +Robert, deadly pale, and her jaw dropped. “He will +not—die,” she said, with stiff lips. “It is not as +bad as that?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, no; I am sure he will not,” Robert cried, +wonderingly and pityingly. “Don't, Aunt Cynthia.”</p> + +<p>“If he dies,” she said—“if he +dies—and he has loved me all this time, and I have never done +anything for him—I cannot bear it; I will not bear it; I will +not, Robert!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, he isn't going to die, Aunt Cynthia.”</p> + +<p>“I want to go to him,” she said. “I +<em>will</em> go to him.”</p> + +<p>Robert looked helplessly from her to Fanny. “I am afraid you +can't just now, Aunt Cynthia,” he replied.</p> + +<p>Fanny came resolutely to his assistance. “Of course you +can't, Miss Lennox,” she said. “The doctors won't let you +see him now. You would do him more harm than good. You don't want to +do him harm!”</p> + +<p>“No, I don't want to do him harm,” returned Cynthia, +in a wailing, hysterical voice. She threw herself down upon a sofa +and began sobbing like a child, with her face hidden.</p> + +<p>A young doctor entered and stood looking at her.</p> + +<p>Robert turned to him. “It is my aunt, and she is agitated +over Mr. Risley's accident,” he said, coloring a little.</p> + +<p>Instantly the young physician's face lost its expression of +astonishment and assumed the soothing gloss of his profession. +“Oh, my dear Miss Lennox,” he said, “there is no +cause for agitation, I assure you. Everything is being done for Mr. +Risley.”</p> + +<p>“Will he be blind?” gasped Cynthia, with a great +vehemence of woe, which seemed to gainsay the fact of her years. It +seemed as if such an outburst of emotion could come only from a child +all unacquainted with grief and unable to control it.</p> + +<p>The young doctor laughed blandly. “Blind? No, indeed,” +he replied. “He might have been blind had this happened +twenty-five years ago, but with the resources of the present day it +is a different matter. Pray don't alarm yourself, dear Miss +Lennox.”</p> + +<p>“Can you call a carriage for my aunt?” asked Robert. +He went close to Cynthia and laid a hand on her slender shoulder. +“I am going to have a carriage come for you, and perhaps Mrs. +Brewster will be willing to go home with you in it.”</p> + +<p>“Of course I will,” replied Fanny.</p> + +<p>“You hear what Dr. Payson says, that there is nothing to be +alarmed about,” Robert said, in a low voice, with his lips +close to his aunt's ear.</p> + +<p>Cynthia made no resistance, but when the carriage arrived, and she +was being driven off, with Fanny by her side, she called out of the +window with a fierce shamelessness of anxiety, “Robert, you +must come and tell me how he is this afternoon, or I shall come back +here and see him myself.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I will, Aunt Cynthia,” he replied, soothingly. +He met the doctor's curious eyes when he turned. The young man had a +gossiping mind, but he forbore to say what he thought, which was to +the effect that—why under the heavens, if that woman cared as +much as that for that man, she had not married him, instead of +letting him dangle after her so many years? But he merely said:</p> + +<p>“There is no use in saying anything to excite a woman +further when she is in such a state of mind, but—” Then +he paused significantly.</p> + +<p>“You think the chances of his keeping his eyesight are +poor?” said Robert.</p> + +<p>“Mighty poor,” replied the doctor.</p> + +<p>Robert stood still, with his pale, shocked face bent upon the +carpet. He could not seem to comprehend at once the enormity of it +all; his mind was grasping at and trying to assimilate the horrible +fact with an infinite pain.</p> + +<p>“Have they got the man that did it?” asked the +doctor.</p> + +<p>“I don't know. I had to see to poor Risley,” replied +Robert. “I hope to God they have.” Then all at once he +thought, with keen anxiety, of Ellen. Who knew what new tragedy had +happened? “I must go back to the factory,” he said, +hurriedly. “I will be back here in an hour or so, and see how +he is getting on. For Heaven's sake, do all you can!”</p> + +<p>Robert was desperately impatient to be back at the factory. He was +full of vague anxiety about Ellen. He could not forget that the shot +which had hit poor Risley had been meant for her, and he remembered +the look on the man's face as he aimed. He found a carriage at the +street corner, and jumped in, and bade the man drive fast.</p> + +<p>When Robert entered the great building, and felt the old vibration +of machinery, he had a curious sensation, one which he had never +before had and which he had not expected. For the first time in his +life he knew what it was to have a complete triumph of his own will +over his fellow-men. He had gotten his own way. All this army of +workmen, all this machinery of labor, was set in motion at his +desire, in opposition to their own. He realized himself a leader and +a conqueror. He went into the office, and Flynn and Dennison came +forward, smiling, to greet him.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Dennison, “we're off again.” +He spoke as if the factory were a ship which had been launched from a +shoal.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied Robert, gravely.</p> + +<p>Nellie Stone, at the desk, was glancing around, with a half-shy, +half-coquettish look.</p> + +<p>“How is Mr. Risley?” asked Flynn.</p> + +<p>“He is badly hurt,” replied Robert. “Have they +found the man? Do you know what has been done about it?”</p> + +<p>“They've got all the police force of the city out,” +replied Flynn, “but it's no use. They'll never catch Amos Lee. +His mother was a gypsy, I've always heard. He knows about a thousand +ways out of traps, and there's plenty to help him. They've got Dixon +under arrest, and Tom Peel; but they didn't have any fire-arms on +'em, and they can't prove anything. Peel says he's ready to go back +to work.” Flynn had a somewhat seedy and downcast appearance, +although he fought hard for his old jaunty manner. His impulsive +good-nature had gotten the better of his judgment and his own wishes, +and he had gone to Mamie Brady and offered to marry her out of hand +if she recovered from her attempted suicide. The night before he had +watched, turn and turn about, with her mother. He gave a curious +effect of shamefaced and melancholy virtue. He followed Robert to one +side when he was hanging up his hat and coat. “I'm going to +tell you, Mr. Lloyd,” he said, rather awkwardly; “maybe +you won't be interested in the midst of all this, but it all came +from the strike. She's better this morning, and I'm going to marry +her, poor girl.”</p> + +<p>Robert looked at him in a dazed fashion. For a moment he had not +the slightest idea what he was talking about.</p> + +<p>“I'm going to marry Mamie Brady,” explained Flynn. +“She took laudanum. It all happened on account of the strike. +I'll own I'd been flirting some with her, but she'd never done it if +she hadn't been out of work, too. She said so. Her mother made her +life a hell. I'm going to marry her, and take her out of +it.”</p> + +<p>“It's mighty good of you,” Robert said, rather +stupidly.</p> + +<p>“There ain't no other way for me to do,” replied +Flynn. “She thinks the world of me, and I suppose I'm to +blame.”</p> + +<p>“I hope she'll make you a good wife and you'll be +happy,” said Robert.</p> + +<p>“She thinks all creation of me,” replied Flynn, with +the simplest vanity and acquiescence in the responsibility laid upon +him in the world. “That shot wasn't meant for Mr. +Risley,” said Flynn, as Robert approached the office door. His +eyes flashed. He himself would gladly have been shot for the sake of +Ellen Brewster. He was going to marry, and try to fulfill his simple +code of honor, but all his life he would be married to one woman, +with another ideal in his heart; that was inevitable.</p> + +<p>“I know it wasn't,” Robert replied, grimly.</p> + +<p>“Everything is quiet now,” said Dennison, with his +smooth smile. Robert made no reply, but entered the great work-room. +“He's mighty stand-offish, now he's got his own way,” +Dennison remarked in a whisper to Nellie Stone. He leaned closely +over her. Flynn had followed Robert. The girl glanced up at the +foreman, who was unmarried, although years older than she, and her +face quivered a little, but it seemed due to a surface +sensitiveness.</p> + +<p>“I want to know if you've heard that Ed is going to marry +Mamie Brady, after all,” she whispered.</p> + +<p>Dennison nodded.</p> + +<p>She knitted her forehead over a column of figures. Dennison leaned +his face so close that his blond-bearded cheek touched hers. She made +a little impatient motion.</p> + +<p>“Oh, go long, Jim Dennison,” she said, but her tone +was half-hearted.</p> + +<p>Dennison persisted, bending her head gently backward until he +kissed her. She pushed him away, but she smiled weakly.</p> + +<p>“You didn't want Ed Flynn. Why, he's a Roman Catholic, and +you're Baptist, Nell,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Who said I did?” she retorted, angrily. “Why, I +wouldn't marry Ed Flynn if he was the last man in the +world.”</p> + +<p>“You'd 'nough sight better marry me,” said +Dennison.</p> + +<p>“Go along; you're fooling.”</p> + +<p>“No, I ain't. I mean it, honest.”</p> + +<p>“I don't want to marry anybody yet awhile,” said +Nellie Stone; but when Dennison kissed her again she did not repulse +him, and even nestled her head with a little caressing motion into +the hollow of his shoulder.</p> + +<p>Then they both started violently apart as Flynn entered.</p> + +<p>“Say!” he proclaimed, “what do you think? The +boss has just told the hands that he'll split the difference and +reduce the wages five instead of ten per cent.”</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter LIX</h3> + +<p>When Robert Lloyd entered the factory that morning he experienced +one of those revulsions which come to man in common with all +creation. As the wind can swerve from south to east, and its swerving +be a part of the universal scheme of things, so the inconsistency of +a human soul can be an integral part of its consistency. Robert, +entering Lloyd's, flushed with triumph over his workmen, filled also +with rage whenever he thought of poor Risley, became suddenly, to all +appearances, another man. However, he was the same man, only he had +come under some hidden law of growth. All at once, as he stood there +amidst those whirring and clamping machines, and surveyed those bowed +and patient backs and swaying arms of labor, standing aside to allow +a man bending before a heavy rack of boots to push it to another +department, he realized that his triumph was gone.</p> + +<p>Not a man or woman in the factory looked at him. All continued +working with a sort of patient fierceness, as if storming a +citadel—as, indeed, they were in one sense—and waging +incessant and in the end hopeless warfare against the destructive +forces of life. Robert stood in the midst of them, these +fellow-beings who had bowed to his will, and saw, as if by some +divine revelation, in his foes his brothers and sisters. He saw +Ellen's fair head before her machine, and she seemed the key-note of +a heart-breaking yet ineffable harmony of creation which he heard for +the first time. He was a man whom triumph did not exalt as much as it +humiliated. Who was he to make these men and women do his bidding? +They were working as hard as they had worked for full pay. Without +doubt he would not gain as much comparatively, but he was going to +lose nothing actually, and he would not work as these men worked. He +saw himself as he never could have seen himself had the strike +continued; and yet, after all, he was not a woman, to be carried away +by a sudden wave of generous sentiment and enthusiasm, for his +business instincts were too strong, inherited and developed by the +force of example. He could not forget that this had been his uncle's +factory.</p> + +<p>He shut his mouth hard, and stood looking at the scene of toil, +then he resolved what to do.</p> + +<p>He spoke to Flynn, who could not believe his ears, and asked him +over.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Go and speak to the engineer, and tell him to shut +down,” said Robert.</p> + +<p>“You ain't going to turn them out, after all?” gasped +Flynn. He was deadly white.</p> + +<p>“No, I am not. I only want to speak to them,” replied +Robert, shortly.</p> + +<p>When the roar of machinery had ceased, Robert stood before the +employés, whose faces had taken on an expression of murder and +menace. They anticipated the worst by this order.</p> + +<p>“I want to say to you all,” said Robert, in a loud, +clear voice, “that I realize it will be hard for you to make +both ends meet with the cut of ten per cent. I will make it five +instead of ten per cent., although I shall actually lose by so doing +unless business improves. I will, however, try it as long as +possible. If the hard times continue, and it becomes a sheer +impossibility for me to employ you on these terms without abandoning +the plant altogether, I will approach you again, and trust that you +will support me in any measures I am forced to take. And, on the +contrary, should business improve, I promise that your wages shall be +raise to the former standard at once.”</p> + +<p>The speech was so straightforward that it sounded almost boyish. +Robert, indeed, looked very young as he stood there, for a generous +and pitying impulse does tend to make a child of a man. The workmen +stared at him a minute, then there was a queer little broken chorus +of “Thank ye's,” with two or three shrill crows of +cheers.</p> + +<p>Robert went from room to room, repeating his short speech, then +work recommenced.</p> + +<p>“He's the right sort, after all,” said Granville Joy +to John Sargent, and his tone had a quality of heroism in it. He was +very thin and pale. He had suffered privations, and now came +additional worry of mind. He could not help thinking that this might +bring about an understanding between Robert and Ellen, and yet he +paid his spiritual dues at any cost.</p> + +<p>“It's no more than he ought to do,” growled a man at +Granville's right. “S'pose he does lose a little +money?”</p> + +<p>“It ain't many out of the New Testament that are going to +lose a little for the sake of their fellow-men, I can tell you +that,” said John Sargent. He was cutting away deftly and +swiftly, and thinking with satisfaction of the money which he would +be able to send his sister, and also how the Atkins family would be +no longer so pinched. He was a man who would never come under the +grindstone of the pessimism of life for his own necessities, but +lately the necessities of others had almost forced him there. Now and +then he glanced across the room at Maria, whose narrow shoulders he +could see bent painfully over her work. He was in love with Maria, +but no one suspected it, least of all Maria herself.</p> + +<p>“Lord! don't talk about the New Testament. Them days is +past,” growled the man on the other side of Joy.</p> + +<p>“They ain't past for me,” said John Sargent, stoutly. +A dark flush rose to his cheek as if he were making a confession of +love.</p> + +<p>“Lord! don't preach,” said the other man, with a +sneer.</p> + +<p>Ellen had stopped work with the rest when Robert addressed them. +Then she recommenced her stitching without a word. Her thoughts were +in confusion. She had so long held one attitude towards him that she +could not readily adjust herself to another. She was cramped with the +extreme narrowness of the enthusiasm of youth. At noontime she heard +all the talk which went on about him. She heard some praise him, and +some speak of him as simply doing his manifest duty, and some say +openly that he should have put the wages back upon the former +footing, and she did not know which was right. He did not come near +her, and she was very glad of that. She felt that she could not bear +it to have him speak to her before them all.</p> + +<p>When she went home at night the news had preceded her. Fanny and +Andrew looked up eagerly when she entered. “I hear he has +compromised,” said Andrew, with doubtful eyes on the girl's +face.</p> + +<p>“Yes; he has cut the wages five instead of ten per +cent.,” replied Ellen, and it was impossible to judge of her +feelings by her voice. She took off her hat and smoothed her +hair.</p> + +<p>“Well, I am glad he has done that much,” said Fanny, +“but I won't say a word as long as you ain't hurt.”</p> + +<p>With that she went into the kitchen, and Ellen and Andrew heard +the dishes rattle. “Your mother's been dreadful nervous,” +whispered Andrew. He looked at Ellen meaningly. Both of them thought +of poor Eva Tenny. Lately the reports with regard to her had been +more encouraging, but she was still in the asylum.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, as they stood there, a swift shadow passed the window, +and they heard a shrill scream from up-stairs. It sounded like +“Mamma, mamma!” “It's Amabel!” cried Ellen. +She clutched her father by the arm. “Oh, what is it—who +is it?” she whispered, fearfully.</p> + +<p>Andrew was suddenly white and horror-stricken. He took hold of +Ellen, and pushed her forcibly before him into the parlor. “You +stay in there till I call you,” he said, in a commanding voice, +the like of which the girl had never heard from him before; then he +shut the door, and she heard the key turn in the lock.</p> + +<p>“Father, I can't stay in here,” cried Ellen. She ran +towards the other door into the front hall, but before she could +reach it she heard the key turn in that also. Andrew was convinced +that Eva had escaped from the asylum, and thus made sure of Ellen's +safety in case she was violent. Then he rushed out into the kitchen, +and there was Amabel clinging to her mother like a little wild thing, +and Fanny weeping aloud.</p> + +<p>When Andrew entered Fanny flew to him. “O Andrew—O +Andrew!” she cried. “Eva's come out! She's well! she's +cured! She's as well as anybody! She is! She says so, and I know she +is! Only look at her!”</p> + +<p>“Mamma, mamma!” gasped Amabel, in a strange, little, +pent voice, which did not sound like a child's. There was something +fairly inhuman about it. “Mamma,” as she said it, did not +sound like a word in any known language. It was like a cry of +universal childhood for its parent. Amabel clung to her mother, not +only with her slender little arms, but with her legs and breast and +neck; all her slim body became as a vine with tendrils of love and +growth around her mother.</p> + +<p>As for Eva, she could not have enough of her. She was intoxicated +with the possession of this little creature of her own flesh and +blood.</p> + +<p>“She's grown; she's grown so tall,” she said, in a +high, panting voice. It was all she could seem to realize—the +fact that the child had grown so tall—and it filled her at once +with ineffable pain and delight. She held the little thing so close +to her that the two seemed fairly one. “Mamma, mamma!” +said Amabel again.</p> + +<p>“She has—grown so tall,” panted Eva.</p> + +<p>Fanny went up to her and tried gently to loosen her grasp of the +little girl. In her heart she was not yet quite sure of her. This +fierceness of delight began to alarm her. “Of course she has +grown tall, Eva Tenny,” she said. “It's quite a while +since you were—taken sick.”</p> + +<p>“I ain't sick now,” said Eva, in a steady voice. +“I'm cured now. The doctors say so. You needn't be afraid, +Fanny Brewster.”</p> + +<p>“Mamma, mamma!” said Amabel. Eva bent down and kissed +the little, delicate face; then she looked at her sister and at +Andrew, and her own countenance seemed fairly illuminated. “I +'ain't <em>told</em> you all,” said she. Then she stopped and +hesitated.</p> + +<p>“What is it, Eva?” asked Fanny, looking at her with +increasing courage. The tears were streaming openly down her cheeks. +“Oh, you poor girl, what have you been through?” she +said. “What is it?”</p> + +<p>“I 'ain't got to go through anything more,” said Eva, +still with that rapt look over Amabel's little, fair head. +“He's—come back.”</p> + +<p>“Eva Tenny!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he has,” Eva went on, with such an air of +inexpressible triumph that it had almost a religious quality in it. +“He has. He left her a long time ago. He—he wanted to +come back to me and Amabel, but he was ashamed, but finally he came +to the asylum, and then it all rolled off, all the trouble. The +doctors said I had been getting better, but they didn't know. It +was—Jim's comin' back. He's took me home, and I've come for +Amabel, and—he's got a job in Lloyd's, and he's bought me this +new hat and cape.” Eva flirted her free arm, and a sweep of +jetted silk gleamed, then she tossed her head consciously to display +a hat with a knot of pink roses. Then she kissed Amabel again. +“Mamma's come back,” she whispered.</p> + +<p>“Mamma, mamma!” cried Amabel.</p> + +<p>Andrew and Fanny looked at each other.</p> + +<p>“Where is he?” asked Andrew, in a slow, halting +voice.</p> + +<p>Eva glanced from one to the other defiantly. “He's outside, +waitin' in the road,” said she; “but he ain't comin' in +unless you treat him just the same as ever. I've set my veto on +that.” Eva's voice and manner as she said that were so +unmistakably her own that all Fanny's doubt of her sanity vanished. +She sobbed aloud.</p> + +<p>“O God, I'm so thankful! She's come home, and she's all +right! O God, I'm so thankful!”</p> + +<p>“What about Jim?” asked Eva, with her old, proud, +defiant look.</p> + +<p>“Of course he's comin' in,” sobbed Fanny. +“Andrew, you go—”</p> + +<p>But Andrew had already gone, unlocking the parlor door on his way. +“It's your aunt Eva, Ellen,” he said as he passed. +“She's come home cured, and your uncle Jim is out in the yard, +and I'm goin' to call him in. I guess you'd better go out and see +her.”</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter LX</h3> + +<p>Lloyd's had been running for two months, and spring had fairly +begun. It was a very forward season. The elms were leafed out, the +cherry and peach blossoms had fallen, and the apple-trees were in +full flower. There were many orchards around Rowe. The little city +was surrounded with bowing garlands of tenderest white and rose, the +well-kept lawns in the city limits were like velvet, and +golden-spiked bushes and pink trails of flowering almond were beside +the gates. Lilacs also, flushed with rose, purpled the walls of old +houses. One morning Ellen, on her way to the factory, had for the +first time that year a realization of the full presence of the +spring. All at once she knew the goddess to be there in her whole +glory.</p> + +<p>“Spring has really come,” she said to Abby. As she +spoke she jostled a great bush of white flowers, growing in a yard +close to the sidewalk, and an overpowering fragrance, like a very +retaliation of sweetness, came in her face.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Abby; “it seems more like spring +than it did last night, somehow!” Abby had gained flesh, and +there was a soft color on her cheeks, so that she was almost pretty, +as she glanced abroad with a sort of bright gladness and a face ready +with smiles. Maria also looked in better health than she had done in +the winter. She walked with her arm through Ellen's.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a carriage, driven rapidly, passed them, and Cynthia +Lennox's graceful profile showed like a drooping white flower in a +window.</p> + +<p>Sadie Peel came up to them with a swift run. “Say!” +she said, “know who that was?”</p> + +<p>“We've got eyes,” replied Abby Atkins, shortly.</p> + +<p>“Who said you hadn't? You needn't be so up an' comin', Abby +Atkins; I didn't know as you knew they were married, that's all. I +just heard it from Lottie Snell, whose sister works at the +dressmaker's that made the wedding fix. Weddin' fix! My land! Think +of a weddin' without a white dress and a veil! All she had was a gray +silk and a black velvet, and a black lace, and a +travellin'-dress!”</p> + +<p>Abby Atkins eyed the other girl sharply, her curiosity getting the +better of her dislike. “Who did she marry?” said she, +shortly. “I suppose she didn't marry the black velvet, or the +lace, or the travelling-dress. That's all you seem to think +about.”</p> + +<p>“I <em>thought</em> you didn't know,” replied Sadie +Peel, in a tone of triumph. “They've kept it mighty still, and +he's been goin' there so long, ever since anybody can remember, that +they didn't think it was anything more now than it had been right +along. Lyman Risley and Cynthia Lennox have just got married, and +they've gone down to Old Point Comfort. My land, it's nice to have +money, if you be half blind!”</p> + +<p>Ellen looked after the retreating carriage, and made no +comment.</p> + +<p>She was pale and thin, and moved with a certain languor, although +she held up her head proudly, and when people asked if she were not +well, answered quickly that she had never been better. Robert had not +been to see her yet. She had furtively watched for him a long time, +then she had given it up. She would not acknowledge to herself or any +one else that she was not well or was troubled in spirit. Her courage +was quite equal to the demand upon it, yet always she was aware of a +peculiar sensitiveness to all happenings, whether directly concerned +with herself or not, which made life an agony to her, and she knew +that her physical strength was not what it had been. Only that +morning she had looked at her face in the glass, and had seen how it +was altered. The lovely color was gone from her cheeks, there were +little, faint, downward lines about her mouth, and, more than that, +out of her blue eyes looked the eternal, unanswerable question of +humanity, “Where is my happiness?”</p> + +<p>It seemed to her when she first set out that she could not walk to +the factory. That sense of the full presence of the spring seemed to +overpower her. All the revelation of beauty and sweetness seemed a +refinement of torture worse to bear than the sight of death and +misery would have been. Every blooming apple-bough seemed to strike +her full on the heart.</p> + +<p>“Only look at that bush of red flowers in that yard,” +Maria said once, and Ellen looked and was stung by the sight as by +the contact of a red flaming torch of spring. “What ails you, +dear; don't you like those flowers?” Maria said, anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Yes, of course I do; I think they are lovely,” +replied Ellen, looking.</p> + +<p>She looked after the carriage which contained the bridal party; +she thought how the bridegroom had almost lost his eyesight to save +her, and her old adoration of Cynthia seemed to rise to a flood-tide. +Then came the thought of Robert, how he must have ceased to love +her—how some day he would be starting off on a bridal trip of +his own. Maud Hemingway, with whom she had often coupled him in her +thoughts, seemed to start up before her, all dressed in bridal white. +It seemed to her that she could not bear it all. She continued +walking, but she did not feel the ground beneath her feet, nor even +Maria's little, clinging fingers of tenderness on her arm. She became +to her own understanding like an instrument which is played upon with +such results of harmonies and discords that all sense of the +mechanism is lost.</p> + +<p>“Well, Ellen Brewster,” said Sadie Peel, in her loud, +strident voice, “I guess you wouldn't have been walkin' along +here quite so fine this mornin' if it hadn't been for Mr. Risley. +You'd ought to send him a weddin'-present—a spoon, or +something.”</p> + +<p>“Shut up,” said Abby Atkins; “Ellen has worried +herself sick over him as it is.” She eyed Ellen anxiously as +she spoke. Maria clung more closely to her.</p> + +<p>“Shut up yourself, Abby Atkins,” returned Sadie Peel. +“He's got a wife to lead him around, and I don't see much to +worry about. A great weddin'! My goodness, if I don't get married +when I'm young enough to wear a white dress and veil, catch me +gettin' married at all!”</p> + +<p>Sadie Peel sped on with her news to a group of girls ahead, and +the wheels of the carriage flashed out of sight in the spring +sunlight. It was quite true that Risley and Cynthia had been married +that morning. He had not entirely lost his vision, although it would +always be poor, and he would live happily, although in a measure +disappointedly, feeling that his partial helplessness was his chief +claim upon his wife's affection. He had gotten what he had longed for +for so many years, but by means which tended to his humiliation +instead of his pride. But Cynthia was radiant. In caring for her +half-blind husband she attained the spiritual mountain height of her +life. She possessed love in the one guise in which he appealed to +her, and she held him fast to the illumination of her very soul.</p> + +<p>After the carriage had passed out of sight Abby came close on the +other side of Ellen and slid her arm through hers. “Say!” +she began.</p> + +<p>“What is it?” asked Ellen.</p> + +<p>Abby blushed. “Oh, nothing much,” she replied, in a +tone unusual for her. She took her arm away from Ellen's, and laughed +a little foolishly.</p> + +<p>Ellen stared at her with grave wonder. She had not the least idea +what she meant.</p> + +<p>Abby changed the subject. “Going to the park opening +to-night, Ellen?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“No, I guess not.”</p> + +<p>“You'd better. Do go, Ellen.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, do go, Ellen; it will do you good,” said Maria. +She looked into Ellen's face with the inexpressibly pure love of one +innocent girl for another.</p> + +<p>The park was a large grove of oaks and birch-trees which had +recently been purchased by the street railway company of Rowe, and it +was to be used for the free entertainment of the people, with an +undercurrent of consideration for the financial profit of the +company.</p> + +<p>“I'm afraid I can't go,” said Ellen.</p> + +<p>“Yes, you can; it will do you good; you look like a ghost +this morning,” said Abby.</p> + +<p>“Do go, Ellen,” pleaded Maria.</p> + +<p>However, Ellen would not have gone had it not been for a whisper +of Abby's as they came out of the factory that night.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Ellen, you'd better go,” said she, +“just to show folks. That Sadie Peel asked me this noon if it +was true that you had something on your mind, and was worrying +about—well, you know what—that made you look +so.”</p> + +<p>Ellen flushed an angry red. “I'll stop for you and Maria +to-night,” she answered, quickly.</p> + +<p>“All right,” Abby replied, heartily; “we'll go +on the eight-o'clock car.”</p> + +<p>Ellen hurried home, and changed her dress after supper, putting on +her new green silk waist and her spring hat, which was trimmed with +roses. When she went down-stairs, and told her mother where she was +going, she started up.</p> + +<p>“I declare, I'd go too if your father had come home,” +she said. “I don't know when I've been anywhere; and Eva was in +this afternoon and said that she and Jim were going.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder where father is?” said Ellen, uneasily. +“I don't know as I ought to go till he comes home.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, stuff!” replied Fanny. “He's stopped to +talk at the store. Oh, here he is now. Andrew Brewster, where in the +world have you been?” she began as he entered; but his mother +was following him, and something in their faces stopped her. Fanny +Brewster had lived for years with this man, but never before had she +seen his face with just that expression of utter, unreserved joy; +although joy was scarcely the word for it, for it was more than that. +It was the look of a man who has advanced to his true measure of +growth, and regained self-respect which he had lost. All the abject +bend of his aging back, all the apologetic patience of his outlook, +was gone. She stared at him, hardly believing her eyes. She was as +frightened as if he had looked despairing instead of joyful. +“Andrew Brewster, what is it?” she asked. She tried to +smile, to echo the foolish width of grimace on his face, but her lips +were too stiff.</p> + +<p>Ellen looked at him, trembling, and very white under her knot of +roses. Andrew held out a paper and tried to speak, but he could +not.</p> + +<p>“For God's sake, what is it?” gasped Fanny.</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Zelotes spoke. “That old mining-stock has come +up,” said she, in a harsh voice. “He'd never ought to +have bought it. I should have told him better if he had asked me, but +it's come up, and it's worth considerable more than he paid for it. +I've just been down to Mrs. Pointdexter's, and Lawyer Samson was in +there seeing her about a bond she's got that's run out, and he says +the mine's going to pay dividends, and for Andrew to hold on to part +of it, anyhow. I bought this paper, and it's in it. He never ought to +have bought it, but it's come up. I hope it will learn him a lesson. +He's had enough trouble over it.”</p> + +<p>Nothing could exceed the mixture of recrimination and exultation +with which the old woman spoke. She eyed Fanny accusingly; she looked +at Andrew with grudging triumph. “Lawyer Samson says it will +make him rich, he guesses; at any rate, he'll come out whole,” +said she. “I hope it will learn you a lesson.”</p> + +<p>Andrew dropped into a chair. His face was distended with a foolish +smile like a baby's. He seemed to smile at all creation. He looked at +his wife and Ellen; then his face again took on its expression of +joyful vacuity.</p> + +<p>Fanny went close to him and laid a firm hand on his shoulder. +“You 'ain't had a mite of supper, Andrew Brewster,” said +she; “come right out and have something to eat.”</p> + +<p>Andrew shook his head, still smiling. His wife and daughter looked +at him alarmedly, then at each other. Then his mother went behind +him, laid a hard, old hand on each shoulder, and shook him.</p> + +<p>“If you <em>have</em> got a streak of luck, there's no need +of your actin' like a fool about it, Andrew Brewster,” said +she. “Go out and eat your supper, and behave yourself, and let +it be a lesson to you. There you had worked and saved that little +money you had in the bank, and you bought an old mine with it, and it +might have turned out there wasn't a thing in it, no mine at all, and +there was. Just let it be a lesson to you, that's all; and go out and +eat your supper, and don't be too set up over it.”</p> + +<p>Andrew looked at his wife and mother and daughter, still with that +expression of joy, so unreserved that it was almost idiotic. They had +all stood by him loyally; he had their fullest sympathy; but had one +of them fully understood? Not one of them could certainly understand +what was then passing in his mind, which had been straitened by grief +and self-reproach, and was now expanding to hold its full measure of +joy. That poor little sum in the bank, that accumulation of his hard +earnings, which he had lost through his own bad judgment, had meant +much more than itself to him, both in its loss and its recovery. It +was more than money; it was the value of money in the current coin of +his own self-respect.</p> + +<p>His mother shook him again, but rather gently. “Get up this +minute, and go out and eat your supper,” said she; “and +then I don't see why you can't go with Fanny and me to the park +opening. They say lots of folks are goin', and there's goin' to be +fireworks. It'll distract your mind. It ain't safe for anybody to +dwell too much on good luck any more than on misfortune. Go right out +and eat your supper; it's most time for the car.”</p> + +<p>Andrew obeyed.</p> + +<h3 align="center">Chapter LXI</h3> + +<p>The new park, which had been named, in honor of the president of +the street railway company, Clemens Park, was composed of a light +growth of oak and birch trees. With the light of the full moon, like +a broadside of silvery arrows, and the frequent electric-lights +filtering through the young, delicate foliage, it was much more +effective than a grove of pine or hemlock would have been.</p> + +<p>When the people streamed into it from the crowded electric-cars, +there were exclamations of rapture. Women and girls fairly shrieked +with delight. The ground, which had been entirely cleared of +undergrowth, was like an etching in clearest black and white, of the +tender dancing foliage of the oaks and birches. The birches stood +together in leaning, white-limbed groups like maidens, and the +rustling spread of the oaks shed broad flashes of silver from the +moon. In the midst of the grove the Hungarian orchestra played in a +pavilion, and dancing was going on there. Many of the people outside +moved with dancing steps. Children in swings flew through the airs +with squeals of delight. There was a stand for the sale of ice-cream +and soda, and pretty girls blossomed like flowers behind the +counters. There were various rustic adornments, such as seats and +grottos, and at one end of the grove was a small collection of wild +animals in cages, and a little artificial pond with swans. Now and +then, above the chatter of the people and the music of the orchestra, +sounded the growl of a bear or the shrill screech of a paroquet, and +the people all stopped and listened and laughed. This little +titillation of the unusual in the midst of their sober walk of life +affected them like champagne. Most of them were of the poorer and +middle classes, the employés of the factories of Rowe. They +moved back and forth with dancing steps of exultation.</p> + +<p>“My, ain't it beautiful!” Fanny said, squeezing +Andrew's arm. He had his wife on one arm, his mother on the other. +For him the whole scene appeared more than it really was, since it +reflected the joy of his own soul. There was for him a light greater +than that of the moon or electricity upon it—that extreme light +of the world—the happiness of a human being who blesses in a +moment of prosperity the hour he was born. He knew for the first time +in his life that happiness is as true as misery, and no mere creation +of a fairy tale. No trees of the Garden of Eden could have outshone +for him those oaks and birches. No gold or precious stones of any +mines on earth can equal the light of the little star of happiness in +one human soul.</p> + +<p>Fanny, as they walked along, kept looking at her husband, and her +own face was transfigured. Mrs. Zelotes, also, seemed to radiate with +a sort of harsh and prickly delight. She descanted upon the +hard-earned savings which Andrew had risked, but she held her old +head very high with reluctant joy, and her bonnet had a rakish +cant.</p> + +<p>Ellen, with Abby and Maria, walked behind them.</p> + +<p>Presently Andrew met another man who had also purchased stock in +the mine, and stopped to exchange congratulations. The man's face was +flushed, as if he had been drinking, but he had not. On his arm hung +his wife, a young woman with a showy red waist and some pink ribbon +bows on her hat. She was teetering a little in time to the music, +while a little girl clung to her skirts and teetered also.</p> + +<p>“Well, old man,” said the new-comer, with a hoarse +sound in his throat, “they needn't talk to us any more, need +they?”</p> + +<p>“That's so,” replied Andrew, but his joy in prosperity +was not like the other man's. It placed him heights above him, +although from the same cause. Prosperity means one thing to one man, +and another to his brother.</p> + +<p>Presently they met Jim Tenny and Eva and Amabel. They were walking +three abreast, Amabel in the middle. Jim Tenny looked hesitatingly at +them, although his face was widened with irrepressible smiles. Eva +gazed at them with defiant radiance. “Well,” said she, +“so luck has turned?”</p> + +<p>Amabel laughed out, and her laugh trilled high with a note of +silver, above the chatter of the crowd and the blare and rhythmic +trill of the orchestra. “I've had an ice-cream, and I'm going +to have a new doll and a doll-carriage,” said she. “Oh, +Ellen!” She left her father and mother for a second and clung +to Ellen, kissing her; then she was back.</p> + +<p>“Well, Andrew?” said Jim. He had a shamed face, yet +there was something brave in it struggling for expression.</p> + +<p>“Well, Jim?” said Andrew.</p> + +<p>The two shook hands solemnly. Then they walked on together, and +the sisters behind, with Amabel clinging to her mother's hand. +“Jim's goin' to work if he <em>has</em> had a little +windfall,” said Eva, proudly. “Oh, Fanny, only think what +it means!”</p> + +<p>“I hope it will be a lesson to both of them,” said +Mrs. Zelotes, stalking along after, but she smiled harshly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, land, don't croak, if you've got a chance to laugh! +There's few enough chances in this world,” cried Eva, with +boisterous good humor. “As for me, I've come out of deep +waters, and I'm goin' to take what comfort I can in the feel of the +solid ground under my feet.” She began to force Amabel into a +dance in time with the music, and the child shrieked with +laughter.</p> + +<p>“S'pose she's all right?” whispered Mrs. Zelotes to +Fanny.</p> + +<p>“Land, yes,” replied Fanny; “it's just like her, +just the way she used to do. It makes me surer than anything else +that she's cured.”</p> + +<p>The girls behind were loitering. Abby turned to Ellen and pointed +to a rustic seat under a clump of birches.</p> + +<p>“Let's sit down there a minute, Ellen,” said she.</p> + +<p>“All right,” replied Ellen. When she and Abby seated +themselves, Maria withdrew, standing aloof under an oak, looking up +at the illumined spread of branches with the rapt, innocent +expression of a saint.</p> + +<p>“Why don't you come and sit down with us, Maria?” +Ellen called.</p> + +<p>“In a minute,” replied Maria, in her weak, sweet +voice. Then John Sargent came up and joined her.</p> + +<p>“She'll come in a minute,” Abby said to Ellen. +“She—she—knows I want to tell you +something.”</p> + +<p>Abby hesitated. Ellen regarded her with wonder.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Ellen,” said Abby; “I don't know +what you're going to think of me after all I've said, but—I'm +going to get married to Willy Jones. His mother has had a little +money left her, and she owns the house clear now, and I'm going to +keep right on working; and—I never thought I would, Ellen, you +know; but I've come to think lately that all you can get out of labor +in this world is the happiness it brings you, and—the love. +That's more than the money, and—he wants me pretty bad. I +suppose you think I'm awful, Ellen Brewster.” Abby spoke with +triumph, yet with shame. She dug her little toe into the +shadow-mottled ground.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Abby, I hope you'll be real happy,” said Ellen. +Then she choked a little.</p> + +<p>“I've made up my mind not to work for nothing,” said +Abby; “I've made up my mind to get whatever work is worth in +this world if I can, and—to get it for him too.”</p> + +<p>“I hope you will be very happy,” said Ellen again.</p> + +<p>“There he is now,” whispered Abby. She rose as Willy +Jones approached, laughing confusedly. “I've been telling Ellen +Brewster,” said Abby, with her perfunctory air.</p> + +<p>Ellen held out her hand, and Willy Jones grasped it, then let it +drop and muttered something. He looked with helpless adoration at +Abby, who put her hand through his arm reassuringly.</p> + +<p>“Let's go and see the animals,” said she; “I +haven't seen the animals.”</p> + +<p>“I guess I'll go and see if I can find my father and +mother,” returned Ellen. “I want to see my mother about +something.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, come with us.” Abby grasped Ellen firmly around +the waist and kissed her. “I don't love him a mite better than +I do you,” she whispered; “so there! You needn't think +you're left out, Ellen Brewster.”</p> + +<p>“I don't,” replied Ellen. She tried to laugh, but she +felt her lips stiff. And unconquerable feeling of desolation was +coming over her, and in spite of herself her tone was somewhat like +that of a child who sees another with all the cake.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you know Floretta got married last night,” +said Abby, moving off with Willy Jones. John Sargent and Maria had +long since disappeared from under the oak.</p> + +<p>Ellen, left alone, looked for a minute after Abby and Willy, and +noted the tender lean of the girl's head towards the young man's +shoulder; then she started off to find her father and mother. She +could not rid herself of the sense of desolation. She felt blindly +that if she could not get under the shelter of her own loves of life +she could not bear it any longer. She had borne up bravely under +Robert's neglect, but now all at once, with the sight of the +happiness of these others before her eyes, it seemed to crush her. +All the spirit in her seemed to flag and faint. She was only a young +girl, who would fall to the ground and be slain by the awful law of +gravitation of the spirit without love. “Anyway, I've got +father and mother,” she said to herself.</p> + +<p>She rushed on alone through the merry crowd. The orchestra was +playing a medley. The violins seemed to fairly pierce thought. A +Roman-candle burst forth on the right with a great spluttering, and +the people, shrieking with delight, rushed in that direction. Then a +rocket shot high in the air with a splendid curve, and there was a +sea of faces watching with speechless admiration the dropping stars +of violet and gold and rose.</p> + +<p>Ellen kept on, moving as nearly as she could in the direction in +which her party had gone. Then suddenly she came face to face with +Robert Lloyd.</p> + +<p>She would have passed him without a word, but he stood before +her.</p> + +<p>“Won't you speak to me?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Good-evening, Mr. Lloyd,” returned Ellen.</p> + +<p>Then she tried to move on again, but Robert still stood before +her.</p> + +<p>“I want to say something to you,” he said, in a low +voice. “I was coming to your house to-night, but I saw you on +the car. Please come to that seat over there. There is nobody in that +direction. They will all go towards the fireworks now.”</p> + +<p>Ellen looked at him hesitatingly. At that moment she seemed to +throw out protecting antennæ of maidenliness; and, besides, +there was always the memory of the cut in wages, for which she still +judged him; and then there was the long neglect.</p> + +<p>“Please come,” said Robert. He looked at her at once +like a conqueror and a pleading child. Ellen placed her hand on his +arm, and they went to the seat under the clump of birches. They were +quite alone, for the whole great company was streaming towards the +fireworks. A fiery wheel was revolving in the distance, and rockets +shot up, dropping showers of stars. Ellen gazed at them without +seeing them at all.</p> + +<p>Robert, seated beside her, looked at her earnestly. “I am +going to put back the wages on the old basis to-morrow,” he +said.</p> + +<p>Ellen made no reply.</p> + +<p>“Business has so improved that I feel justified in doing +so,” said Robert. His tone was almost apologetic. Never as long +as he lived would he be able to look at such matters from quite the +same standpoint as that of the girl beside him. She knew that, and +yet she loved him. She never would get his point of view, and yet he +loved her. “I have waited until I was able to do that before +speaking to you again,” said Robert. “I knew how you felt +about the wage-cutting. I thought when matters were back on the old +basis that you might feel differently towards me. God knows I have +been sorry enough for it all, and I am glad enough to be able to pay +them full wages again. And now, dear?”</p> + +<p>“It has been a long time,” said Ellen, looking at her +little hands, clasped in her lap.</p> + +<p>“I have loved you all the time, and I have only waited for +that,” said Robert.</p> + +<p><br>Later on Robert and Ellen joined Fanny and the others. It was +scarcely the place to make an announcement. After a few words of +greeting the young couple walked off together, and left the Brewsters +and Tennys and Mrs. Zelotes standing on the outskirts of the crowd +watching the fireworks. Granville Joy stood near them. He had looked +at Robert and Ellen with a white face, then he turned again towards +the fireworks with a gentle, heroic expression. He caught up Amabel +that she might see the set piece which was just being put up. +“Now you can see, Sissy,” he said.</p> + +<p>Eva looked away from the fireworks after the retreating pair, then +meaningly at Fanny and Andrew. “That's settled,” said +she.</p> + +<p>Andrew's face quivered a little, and took on something of the same +look which Granville Joy's wore. All love is at the expense of love, +and calls for heroes.</p> + +<p>“It'll be a great thing for her,” said Fanny, in his +ear; “it'll be a splendid thing for her, you know that, +Andrew.”</p> + +<p>Andrew gazed after the nodding roses on Ellen's hat vanishing +towards the right. Another rocket shot up, and the people cried out, +and watched the shower of stars with breathless enjoyment. Andrew saw +their upturned faces, in which for the while toil and trial were +blotted out by that delight in beauty and innocent pleasure of the +passing moment which is, for human souls, akin to the refreshing +showers for flowers of spring; and to him, since his own vision was +made clear by his happiness, came a mighty realization of it all, +which was beyond it all. Another rocket described a wonderful golden +curve of grace, then a red light lit all the watching people. Andrew +looked for Ellen and Robert, and saw the girl's beautiful face +turning backward over her lover's shoulder. All his life Andrew had +been a reader of the Bible, as had his father and mother before him. +To-day, ever since he had heard of his good fortune, his mind had +dwelt upon certain verses of Ecclesiastes. Now he quoted from them. +“Live joyfully with the wife whom thou lovest all the days of +the life of thy vanity, which He hath given thee under the sun, all +the days of thy vanity, for that is thy portion in this life and in +thy labor which thou takest under the sun.”</p> + +<p>Ellen saw her father, and smiled and nodded, then she and her +lover passed out of sight. Another rocket trailed its golden parabola +along the sky, and dropped with stars; there was an ineffably sweet +strain from the orchestra; the illuminated oaks tossed silver and +golden boughs in a gust of fragrant wind. Andrew quoted again from +the old King of Wisdom—“I withheld not my heart from any +joy, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor, and that was my portion +of labor.” Then Andrew thought of the hard winter which had +passed, as all hard things must pass, of the toilsome lives of those +beside him, of all the work which they had done with their poor, +knotted hands, of the tracks which they had worn on the earth towards +their graves, with their weary feet, and suddenly he seemed to grasp +a new and further meaning for that verse of Ecclesiastes.</p> + +<p>He seemed to see that labor is not alone for itself, not for what +it accomplishes of the tasks of the world, not for its equivalent in +silver and gold, not even for the end of human happiness and love, +but for the growth in character of the laborer.</p> + +<p>“That is the portion of labor,” he said. He spoke in a +strained, solemn voice, as he had done before. Nobody heard him +except his wife and mother. His mother gave a sidewise glance at him, +then she folded her cape tightly around her and stared at the +fireworks, but Fanny put her hand through his arm and leaned her +cheek against his shoulder.</p> + +<p align="center">THE END</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Portion of Labor, by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PORTION OF LABOR *** + +***** This file should be named 18011-h.htm or 18011-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/0/1/18011/ + +Produced by Jeff Kaylin and Andrew Sly + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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