done a wise thing. Marriage did not interfere
with her teaching; she felt capable and independent so long as she had
her salary. George was working and working diligently, to prepare for
winter, whenever she was present or could see results. With her first
month's salary she would buy herself a warm coat, a wool suit, an extra
skirt for school, and some waists. If there was enough left, she would
have another real hat. Then for the remainder of the year she would
spend only for the barest necessities and save to help toward a home
something like Nancy Ellen's. Whenever she thought of Nancy Ellen and
Robert there was a choking sensation in her throat, a dull ache where
she had been taught her heart was located.

For two weeks everything went as well as Kate hoped: then Mrs. Holt
began to show the results of having been partially bottled up, for the
first time in her life. She was careful to keep to generalities which
she could claim meant nothing, if anything she said was taken up by
either George or Kate. George was too lazy to quarrel unless he was
personally angered; Kate thought best to ignore anything that did not
come in the nature of a direct attack. So long as Mrs. Holt could not
understand how some folks could see their way to live off of other
folks, or why a girl who had a chance to marry a fortune would make
herself a burden to a poor man, Kate made the mistake of ignoring her.
Thus emboldened she soon became personal. It seemed as if she spent
her spare time and mental force thinking up suggestive, sarcastic
things to say, where Kate could not help hearing them. She paid no
attention unless the attack was too mean and premeditated; but to her
surprise she found that every ugly, malicious word the old woman said
lodged in her brain and arose to confront her at the most inopportune
times--in the middle of a recitation or when she roused enough to turn
over in her bed at night. The more vigorously she threw herself into
her school work, the more she realized a queer lassitude, creeping over
her. She kept squaring her shoulders, lifting her chin, and brushing
imaginary cobwebs from before her face.

The final Friday evening of the month, she stopped at the post office
and carried away with her the bill for her Leghorn hat, mailed with
nicely conceived estimate as to when her first check would be due.
Kate visited the Trustee, and smiled grimly as she slipped the amount
in an envelope and gave it to