d in. How many of us would
go that far?"

* * * * *

From the grave Sue came to our apartment. Eleanore had packed her trunk.

"Sue must keep out of that dreary old house," she told me. "Luckily she
has a friend out of town whom she's going to visit. When she comes back
we must have the house closed, and I hope she'll live with us for a
while."

We talked of this that evening, for Sue seemed to want to talk. We
stayed up until late and planned and planned. Many different kinds of
work for Sue were taken up and discussed by us all. She surprised me by
the brave effort she made.

"I've got to want something--that's sure," she said. "I can't just yet.
I've wanted so many things so hard, one after the other for nearly eight
years, that now I feel as though I'd used up all the wanting that I've
got. But of course I haven't. If I have I'm a back number--and I'd a
great deal rather be dead. So don't you people worry. Depend upon it, in
less than a year I'll be all wrapped up in something new. I'll be
tremendously enthused," she ended, smiling wearily.

She agreed with me that the house be sold, and after she had left us I
made every effort to sell it at once. I found it was heavily mortgaged
now, but when at last I made a sale there was enough to clear off all
debts and leave about two thousand dollars for Sue. She would have at
least something to start on.

As we set about to dismantle the house, various things thickly covered
with dust came out of closets, drawers and shelves. And these objects
brought near again to me my mother's life and that hunger of hers for
the things that were "fine," that hospitable door which had waited for
friends from the handsome old homes all around us. These homes all along
the street had now lost their quiet dignity. Some were empty and marked
for sale, others that had already been sold were cheerless boarding
houses. The most handsome home of all, with its ample yard where I used
to play, was gone, and in its place rose an apartment building which
made the old houses all seem dwarfs.

Her world and his were both slipping away. Her life and his, her creed
and his, were little now but memories--memories which in Sue and in me
must take their chance with the warm, new feelings, the cravings, hopes,
loves, doubts and dreams of this absorbing world of our own. For the
harbor was still molding lives.

How anxious Eleanore seemed to be through, I thought a l