her child, nobody could possibly
get around that fact, and it was a stumbling-block in the way of
forgetfulness or ease of mind. Oh, but for that, what unspeakable
content she could feel in this quiet haven, this self-respecting
solitude! To have her thoughts, her emotions, her words, her self,
to herself once more, as she had had them before she was married at
seventeen. To go to sleep in peace, without listening for a step she had
once heard with gladness, but that now sometimes stumbled unsteadily on
the stair; or to dream as happy women dreamed, without being roused by
the voice of the present John, a voice so different from that of the
past John that it made the heart ache to listen to it.

Sue's voice broke the stillness: "How long are we going to stay here,
Mardie?"

"I don't know, Sue; I think perhaps as long as they'll let us."

"Will Fardie come and see us?"

"I don't expect him."

"Who'll take care of Jack, Mardie?"

"Your Aunt Louisa."

"She'll scold him awfully, but he never cries; he just says, 'Pooh! what
do I care?' Oh, I forgot to pray for that very nicest Shaker gentleman
that said he'd let me help him feed the calves! Had n't I better get out
of bed and do it? I'd 'specially like to."

"Very well, Sue; and then go to sleep."

Safely in bed again, there was a long pause, and then the eager little
voice began, "Who'll take care of Fardie now?"

"He's a big man; he does n't need anybody."

"What if he's sick?"

"We must go back to him, I suppose."

"Tomorrow 's Sunday; what if he needs us tomorrow, Mardie?"

"I don't know, I don't know! Oh, Sue, Sue, don't ask your wretched
mother any more questions, for she cannot bear them tonight. Cuddle
up close to her; love her and forgive her and help her to know what's
right."

II. A Son of Adam

When Susanna Nelson at seventeen married John Hathaway, she had the
usual cogent reasons for so doing, with some rather more unusual ones
added thereto. She was alone in the world, and her life with an uncle,
her mother's only relative, was an unhappy one. No assistance in the
household tasks that she had ever been able to render made her a welcome
member of the family or kept her from feeling a burden, and she belonged
no more to the little circle at seventeen than she did when she became a
part of it at twelve. The hope of being independent and earning her own
living had sustained her through the last year; but it was a very timid,
self-distr