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  They came in together a moment later, Dana loftily and leisurely, Justine talking vivaciously.

  “And I told her to weah a white flowah in her buttonhole,” she said with an affected giggle, “so you would know her at once. I thought it would be so awkward for you both. And you’re sure you won’t have any difficulty about getting the trunks up at once? She’ll want to dress for dinnah. You know they always dress for dinnah in New Yawk. Dana, deah, you’re a little mussed, did you know it? Would you like me to get you a whisk broom? There’s dust on the cuff of your trouser, deah. Where have you been? You must have been sitting on the ground. Are you suah it was quite dry?”

  “Yer Granny!” blurted the old lady half under her breath. “Justine, stop worrying Dana and come here! I want to know how old that child is!”

  “Oh, Grandma!” giggled Justine nervously. “I really don’t know. She’ll be here in a few minutes and you can see for yourself. Let me see, when did I come heah, what yeah? It was the yeah, no two yeahs after than, that Ella Smith was married. No—I don’t know just when it was. I can run up and look over my file of letters if you must know, Grandma,” she said indulgently, with an anxious eye on the clock.

  “Yer Granny!” said the old lady quite loud this time. “You’ve got something up your sleeve. Justine, I don’t know what it is, but you lick your lips like a cat that had just been tasting the cream. I’ve always noticed that you have something up your sleeve, Justine, when your mouth gets that sleek look. But whatever it is it’ll come out soon enough I suppose. Let well enough alone. Aren’t you going to help Amelia in the kitchen? She sounds as if she had just broken the stove down and was trying to set it up. For mercy’s sake go and stop that clatter!”

  Justine gave a furtive look at Grandma as she started toward the door.

  “You’re being unkind to me, Grandma,” she said in her humbly gentle tone that always riled the old lady. “But it doesn’t mattah. I’ll try to bear it sweetly. Amelia, deah, is there anything that I can do to help down heah? What’s the mattah? Have you got behind in the dinnah?”

  “No I haven’t got behind the ‘dinnah,’ nor anything else, but I’d like to get behind you and find out what you’re up to now,” said the irate mother. “There’s nothing the mattah, and you needn’t come around heah calling me deah! Go on upstairs and keep out from underfoot, for pity’s sake, till the dinner’s on the table. You make me sick!”

  Justine vanished up the back stairs, shedding a bitter tear vindictively as she closed the door with a gentle emphasis. She was anxious to find out if Dana had left yet and whether he had changed his clothes before he went. This trying to have company in a house that was not your own was difficult business, but Justine had always felt that right made might, and she meant to have everything right for her friends. If things went the way she hoped—But she must not even think about that.

  “Amelia, how old is that child that’s coming?” asked Madame Whipple.

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” said Amelia angrily. “She’s no child though, I can tell you that, if she has got bobbed hair and wears her skirts up to her knees.”

  “How do you know that, Amelia?”

  “Well, because I saw her photograph, if you must know. It was lying on Justine’s bureau when I stepped in to put the clean clothes on her bed. It said underneath it, ‘This is the dear child’s latest picture, just a snapshot, but it will help you to recognize us at the train.’”

  “H’m!” said Madame Whipple with a grim twinkle. “You must have good eyesight to read all that across the room.”

  “I had to go over to pick up some papers that had blown down into the wastebasket when I opened the door. The window was open and it made a draft. I was afraid something Justine wanted to keep would be thrown way if I didn’t rescue them. You can believe that or not as you like, but it’s true. I may have a bad temper but I don’t pry into even my enemy’s private affairs.”

  “Oh, I never said you did,” said Grandma twinkling. “But Amelia, did you want the best napkins used, or the second best?”

  “Well, I suppose, since Justine’s been to so much trouble, you might use the best ones just for once.”

  “Where are you going to seat her? Next to Dana, or opposite?”

  “I’m sure I hadn’t thought,” said Dana’s mother looking more and more like a thundercloud.

  “If you put her beside him he can’t see her quite so well as across. You might wait to see if she’s good looking,” teased Grandma.

  Amelia cast her a withering glance and slammed out into the kitchen. It beat all how keen Grandma was! What one thought in one’s secret chamber, Grandma Whipple snatched out and shouted from the housetop. There really was not a flicker of an idea safe from her eagle clutch. Amelia’s big, not unhappy body quivered as from a chastisement as she jerked the potato pot over to one side where it could not boil so hard and turned almost too fast, and she felt all sore and hot around her eyes and throat as if she would like to put her head down and cry hard. Then Grandma’s voice crooned out.

  “Amelia!”

  Amelia dabbed her eyes hastily with the corner of her apron and put her head in at the door.

  “Did you call, Mother?” Her voice had an annoyed tone.

  “Yes,” said the old lady with alacrity. “I forgot to tell you there’s some flour on your face. Better wipe it off before the company comes. They might get an idea you’re worldly.”

  Amelia shut the door sharply, but even through the heavy wood she thought she heard the old lady’s cracked cackle.

  Amelia went to the window and leaned her hot forehead against the frame, letting the afternoon breeze fan her wet, tired eyes and brow. She cast a wistful glance up the road to the old gray house standing back from the street behind tall elm trees. Was that Lynette sitting on the porch, or her mother? Lynette never taunted like that. She always had a pleasant smile of greeting and never seemed to be trying to say mean things and get the better of people. Perhaps, after all, there might be a day coming when she would have a refuge, and smiles instead of hard words. She drew a deep sigh and turned back to her cooking, thinking for the thousandth time that she had never expected such a life when she left a good home and got married. What fools girls were to leave home! Here she was the slave of her mother-in-law and bound to take what was given her because had no other place to go! Would it always be this way? Would life never hold any of the bright dreams she had had when she was young? Would it be just this dull, heavy existence full of work, and no love or joy, on to the end and the grave?

  Other people lived through their children. She had heard them say so. And she had always supposed that when Dana got old enough to earn a living she would go and live with him and they would have a servant and she would be a lady at last. But there was Lynette! Dana wouldn’t be hers! He would belong to Lynette. She could see that plain as day. In fact she had been seeing it for three or four years back, and hoping against hope that perhaps her son would have a little time for her before he got married. But now since he had come home this last time he had made her realize most forcefully that he had no such idea in mind.

  She could see most plainly that he considered her an old woman, quite out of date, and not at all fit to be presented to a congregation as a permanent head of the minister’s home. Indeed he had spoken quite openly about the near approach of the time when he would be going away “for good,” and made suggestions to his grandmother about several fine old pieces of furniture that he would like to take with him, adding carelessly, “You and mother won’t need them when I am gone. The house is stuffed full to overflowing now.”

  There had not been time for the hard-worked woman to stop to brood over this since it happened, for she had been rushed to death getting ready for Justine’s company, but it had stayed in her heart like a poisoned barb and festered. Now, as she leaned her hot forehead against the cool windowpane, she seemed to be pressing against the poisoned throb of it, and the string drove into her soul lik
e a keen, hot instrument of torture.

  Oh, of course Lynette was well enough, pretty and well connected, and sweet and pleasant to her. She had no complaint to make about the way she had always treated her, but one could see it was only for Dana’s sake. Of course she had no love for her. She was not her kind. And never would she consent to go and live in a home with Lynette, not with Lynette as housekeeper. That was not to be tolerated. If the children would consent to let her be housekeeper and they board with her something might work out, she doubted it. But they never would of course. Every girl wanted her own domain, and to be the boss of it. Well, she would never go to live with them, even if Dana got around to want it, which her heart told her he never would. Why, Lynette had been taught to wash dishes with two pans, one for washing and one for rinsing! Such folly! A perfect waste of time and material to say nothing of hot water. A great deal better to pile them in the sink after the washing and pour a little hot water over them. Lynette said her grandmother had taught her that the dishes did not get thoroughly rinsed unless they were entirely immersed in water. H’mph! The Whipple dishes were just as clean as anybody’s dishes, and as smooth and shiny. And she never used a rinsing pan. That was the difference between the Whipples and Brookes anyway; the Brookes thought they were too good for other folks. They thought she didn’t wash dishes clean. They thought she was dirty.

  Her eyes snapped and she lifted her tired head fiercely from the windowpane, her strength returning with her anger, the tears which but the moment before had been blinding her scorching dry with the heat of her indignation. No, she would never go to live with Dana as a dependent. But oh, if she could just get away from Justine! Justine was the thorn in her flesh which pricked and scratched continually. Oh, life, life, life! What a farce it was! Trouble everywhere one looked. No comfort even in one’s own children. The minute you got them raised they turned away from you.

  And now here was this other girl coming upon the scene! No telling what complications this might bring about. There might be worse things in life than even to have Lynette as a daughter-in-law, dishpans and all! Strange Grandma didn’t think of that. But then she did not know the girl was grown up. That was all a piece of Justine’s slyness. It would serve Grandma right if the girl made trouble.

  Grimly, Amelia went back to her cooking, her lips set, her heart heavy. The dinner had to be got whatever came, and one couldn’t live always, that was some comfort. Though heaven would have to be pretty nice to make up for all one went through here.

  Amelia had an inherited belief in a life hereafter, not an active one, which she kept put away in her thoughts somewhere against the day of her departure from this life. It could not be said to be a bright and shining hope. It was merely a last vague resort. It seemed necessary for the mother of a prospective minister of the Gospel to have this much. It wouldn’t be decent not to. But it could not be said to be a comfort and stay to her soul.

  Then suddenly the peas began to boil dry, it was time for the biscuits to go into the oven, the potatoes must be mashed, and the gravy made. What difference did it make whether life was worth living or not? The dinner must be brought to its usual perfect climax. Justine was coming down the front stairs. In a moment more she would dash into the kitchen with her obnoxious offers of help again, and she would see that Amelia had been crying.

  Amelia seized the potato pot and poured the potatoes hastily through the colander. The rising steam would hide her eyes. Justine would think it was the steam that made her eyes red. Justine wasn’t as keen as Grandma. Think of Grandma noticing that little bit of powder!

  Amelia dashed her hand hastily over her eyes again to make sure there were no telltale drops on her lashes. Was that Dana’s car turning in at the drive?

  Now, what would that other girl be like? Everything depended upon that.

  Chapter 5

  The train was within a mile of the station, and Ella Smith and her daughter were preparing to leave it.

  “We’re going through into the parlor car and get out from there,” announced the daughter as if she were conductor of the expedition.

  “No,” said the mother, “that’s silly. I don’t like to walk in a moving train.”

  “Well, you’re going to walk in this one, Ella,” said the daughter impudently. “It’s bad enough to have to ride in a common car without having people see you did it. Come on Ella, pick up your things. It’s time we were getting started.”

  “Now, look here, Jessie, that’s another thing I’ve been going to speak to you about. You’ve simply got to stop calling me Ella. It’s disrespectful, and I won’t have it. It was all right at home just for fun, where everybody knew us, but now we’re going among strangers, and Miss Whipple would be horrified. I want you to promise me, Jessie—”

  “Promise nothing!” said the daughter. “It’s none of her business what I call my mother. If she’s such an antiquated Jane that she doesn’t know everybody is doing it now it’s time she learned. It’s you that have got to cut calling me Jessie. I won’t have it, do you hear? You promised you wouldn’t do it another time. And you’ve called me Jessie half a dozen times in the last five minutes. I’m Jessie Belle from now on, and you’re Ella. Get me? It won’t take me two minutes to jump back on this train and go to New York or some other place I like if you go to getting funny. I may stay in this dump if everything goes right for a while but I certainly won’t if it don’t. Get that? I won’t stick around a week even if you call me Jessie once. I’m not going to arrive there and be tagged with that old-fashioned name. It’s Jessie Belle or nothing.”

  “Well Jessie—I mean, Jessie Belle—it’s awfully hard to remember, Jessie, when I’ve called you that all your life, but—Jessie Belle, I’ll call you Jessie Belle if you will stop calling me Ella. It really isn’t seemly, Jessie—I mean Jessie Belle—”

  “Aw, cut that! It’s Ella or nothing. I won’t stick around at all and go around saying ‘Momma’ the way you want me to. It simply isn’t being done. If you can’t be a good sport like an up-to-date mother I’ll make my own life. I’ve told you that before. And you’ve got to improve on that Jessie business or you won’t find me when the train moves on at all. You get in a Jessie twice for every time you say it right. You’ve got to think of me as Jessie Belle. Say it over and over to yourself while we’re getting off and then you’ll be able to manage it naturally. I thought I had you trained. Come, Ella, the train’s slowing down. You take that old bag, and I’ll take the new one. Get a hustle on. Follow me, and don’t you dare let that young man know we rode in the common car.”

  “Oh, but, Jessie Belle,” said Ella Smith dubiously, rising and trying to pull down the heavy bag from the rack overhead.

  “That’s the stuff, Ella, keep her up!” said Jessie Belle swinging jauntily up the aisle with the new bag and boldly slamming the door open. “Get through this door and into the parlor car quick before anybody sees us. We’re going clear through and get off the other end. See? And we’re going to give the porter our bags to carry. I’ve got a quarter all ready to give him. Don’t you make any fuss now.”

  “But Jessie—Jessie Belle—why waste a whole quarter for that? It’s only a minute or two more, and we can just as well carry them ourselves. The young man will likely take them for us. Here, give me yours if it’s heavy. I can manage them both.”

  “For mercy’s sake, Ella, don’t you see it means everything to make a good impression at the start? Do you want him to see we had to carry our own baggage? Do you want him to know you’re so hard up you couldn’t even spare a quarter for the porter?”

  “But Jessie! Belle! Wouldn’t a dime do well enough? I don’t know where we’re going to get any more money after this is gone.”

  “Hush, Ella, people will hear you. Hurry. The train is stopping! Let me manage this business. You’re a back number. One would think you’d lived in the country all your life instead of New York. Buck up now and get down to the other door quick! You don’t want to get carried on do you?”<
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  Ella Smith came puffing laboriously down the aisle after her daughter, bowling from one parlor chair to the next with the regular spasmodic lurches, apologizing to first one side and then another, finally bringing up with an elaborate apology to an empty chair at the end of the line, and drawn up with a jerk by Jessie Belle’s restraining hand.

  “Cut it, Ella! You’ve lost your head!”

  “But Jessie,” gasped the excited mother, “I mean Belle, we weren’t brought up to deceive. All this about your name—and pretending we’ve been traveling in the parlor car! Jessie! Belle! I don’t think it is really right to change your name this way. You weren’t baptized Belle, you were baptized Barbour. Jessie Barbour Smith! I don’t feel we ought to go on with this. Your father would—”

  “Cut it, Ella. Dad’s dead and he’s nothing to say about it, and I prefer Belle to Barbour. Besides, you burned your bridges behind you when you wrote Miss Whipple my name was Jessie Belle and now you’ve got to live up to it. Here we are! Now, you remember, I mean what I say. I’ll clear out if you go to Jessie-ing me. There! That must be the car just driving up. Gee! He’s good looking! Say Ella, I’m crazy about him already!”

  “Now look here, Jessie! I mean Belle!” said the mother pulling at her daughter’s sleeve. “You mustn’t talk that way. That young man is engaged! You know Justine Whipple wrote me he was engaged! It isn’t decent—”

  “Applesauce, Ella! What’s that to me?” trilled Jessie Belle joyously. “Just a little more exciting, that’s all, Ella. Come on! Give the porter your bag!”

  Ella Smith got herself down the steps of the parlor car dubiously and stood like a nice, bewildered old hen whose one pretty chicken had suddenly become a wild duckling.

  She looked around her with troubled eyes, trying to find her old friend Justine Whipple, bewildered with the new scenes, anxious and panic-stricken about the outcome of this visit. The bustle and noise of the departing train held her on the platform where she had first stepped off, and she glanced back to the fast-moving car where she had been sitting a few short moments before with a wild longing to jump on its steps and get back to her home again, only there was no home to go to anymore.