Ellen smiled on her mother patronisingly. "It looks like he wants to
call on me."

Mrs. O'Brien lifted hands in vague protest. "But tell me, now, do you
think Jarge----" She hadn't courage to finish her sentence.

Terence looked over to Rosie with a sudden chuckle. "Say, Rosie,
wouldn't it be fun if Jarge happened in? Let's drop him a line. Gee!
Maybe he wouldn't do a thing to that St. Louis guy!"

"Ma!" Ellen admonished, sharply.

"Terry lad," Mrs. O'Brien began, obediently, "I'm surprised at you
talkin' this way about the young gentleman that's coming to see your
poor sister Ellen on Saturday night."

Terence pushed away his plate and began writing an imaginary postcard
with a spoon. "Dear Jarge," he read slowly; "Won't you please come in
on Saturday night? We're arranging a little surprise for Ellen. Yours
truly, Terence O'Brien. Gee!" Terry murmured thoughtfully, "I wish he
would come! It sure would be worth seeing!"

"Now, Terry," Mrs. O'Brien begged, "promise me you'll do nuthin' so
foolish as that! You know yourself the awful temper Jarge has on him,
an' if he was to come I'm afeared there'd be something serious. Don't
you think, Ellen dear," she went on a little timidly, "that perhaps
you'd better tell Mr. Harry not to come this week?"

Ellen looked at her mother defiantly. "I don't see why. This week's as
good as any other for me."

"Well, then, don't you think that perhaps he'd better make you a little
call down at the shop? With so many children and things the house is a
wee bit untidy."

"It's his own idea to come up here." Ellen paused, a trifle embarrassed.
"He says he wants to meet the family."

"H'm!" murmured Terry. "He's not like your old friend, Mr. Hawes, is he,
Ellen?"

Ellen flushed. "No, Terry, he's not a bit like Mr. Hawes."

Small Jack piped up unexpectedly. "Is he like Jarge, Ellen?"

"No, he's not like George, either."

"Can he fight?"

Ellen tossed her head. "I should hope not! Harry Long is a gentleman!"
Seeing that this was not a very strong recommendation to her brothers,
she added: "But, unless I'm very much mistaken, he's plenty able to take
care of himself. He's a fine swimmer, too."

"Is he a sport, Ellen?" Terry asked.

"He's certainly an elegant dresser, if that's what you mean. Just you
wait and see."

Friday's letter put Ellen into something of a flurry.

"Ma, Harry thinks it would be awful nice if you would invite him to
supper tomorrow night. He's coming to the shop in the morning. Then
he'll take me out to lunch and we'll go somewheres in the afternoon, and
he wants to know if we can't come back here for supper. He thinks that
would be a good way for him to meet the whole family."

"Mercy on us!" Mrs. O'Brien wailed. "With all I've got to do, how can I
get up a fine supper for a sporty young gent like Mr. Harry? Can't you
keep him out, Ellen? I don't see why he's got to meet the family. We're
just like any other family: a father, a mother, and five children."

"But, Ma, he makes such a point of it. I don't see how we can refuse.
Besides, you know he's been pretty nice to me taking me out to dinner
and things."

"If he was only Jarge Riley now," Mrs. O'Brien mused, "I wouldn't mind
him at all, at all, for he wouldn't be a bit of trouble. Poor Jarge was
always just like one of the family, wasn't he?"

Ellen drew her mother back to the subject of the moment. "So can I tell
him to come?"

Mrs. O'Brien sighed. "Oh, I suppose so. That is, if Rosie'll help me. I
tell you frankly, Ellen, I simply can't manage it alone."

Mrs. O'Brien called Rosie to get the promise of her assistance. Rosie
listened quietly, then, instead of answering her mother, she turned to
her sister.

"Ellen, I want to know one thing: Have you told this Harry about Jarge
Riley?"

Ellen frowned. "I don't see what that's got to do with tomorrow's
supper."

Rosie took a deep breath. "It's got a lot to do with it if I'm going to
help."

For a moment the sisters measured each other in silence. Then Ellen
broke out petulantly:

"Well, then, Miss Busybody, if you've got to know, I haven't! And,
what's more, I'm not going to!"

"You're not going to, eh? We'll see about that." Rosie turned to her
mother. "Ma, I'll help you tomorrow night. We'll have a good supper. But
I want to give you both fair warning: if Ellen don't tell this Harry
about Jarge Riley, I will! She's trying to make a goat of both of them
and I'm not going to stand for it."

"Ma!" screamed Ellen, "are you going to let her meddle with my affairs
like that? You make her mind her own business!"

"Rosie dear," begged Mrs. O'Brien, "don't go excitin' your poor sister
Ellen by any such foolish threats. You'd only be causin' trouble, Rosie,
and I'm sure you don't want to do that. And, Ellen dear, don't raise
your voice. The neighbours will hear you."

"I don't care!" Ellen shouted. "She's nothing but George's little
watch-dog, and I tell you I'm not going to stand it!"

"Perhaps, Ellen dear," Mrs. O'Brien ventured timidly, "it might be just
as well if you did tell him about Jarge."

Ellen burst into tears. "You're all against me, every one of you--that's
what you are! You're so afraid I'll have a good time! Isn't George
coming on Thanksgiving and aren't we to be married in the spring? I
should think that would suit you! But, no, you've got to spoil my fun
now and it's a mean shame--that's what it is!"

"Ah, now, Ellen dear, don't you cry!" Mrs. O'Brien implored. "I'm sure
Rosie is not going to interfere, are you, Rosie?"

Rosie regarded her sister's tears unmoved. "I'm going to do exactly what
I say I am, and Ellen knows I am."

Ellen straightened herself with a shake. "Very well," she said shortly.
"I guess I can be mean, too! You just wait!"

CHAPTER XL

MR. HARRY LONG EXPLAINS

Rosie was more than true to her promise. She prepared a good supper and,
in addition, made the kitchen neat and presentable, scrubbed Jack until
his skin and hair fairly shone with cleanliness, and, long before supper
time, had Mrs. O'Brien and Geraldine, both in holiday attire, seated in
state on the front porch to receive Ellen and her admirer.

When Jack, who was perched on the front gate as family lookout, saw them
coming, he rushed back to the kitchen to give Rosie warning and Rosie
had time to slip behind the front door and, through the crack, to
witness the arrival.

"And, Ellen dear," Mrs. O'Brien exclaimed in greeting, "do you mean to
tell me that this is your friend, Mr. Harry Long! If I do say it, Mr.
Long, I'm mighty pleased to see you! As I've said to Ellen, many's the
time, 'Why don't you bring your friend out to see me? Bring him any
time,' says I, 'for the friends of me children are always welcome in
this house.' And himself says the same thing, Mr. Long."

The florid well-built young man who gave Rosie the impression of bright
tan shoes, gray spats, a fancy vest, and massive watchfob, waited,
smiling, until Mrs. O'Brien was done and then remarked in friendly,
cordial tones: "Just call me Harry, Mrs. O'Brien. I'm plain Harry to my
friends."

"Well, I'm sure you're among friends when you're here," Mrs. O'Brien
said with a downcast look of melting coyness. "But I fear you won't
think so if I keep you standing much longer. Won't you sit down, Mr.--I
mean, won't you sit down, Harry? You see, Harry," she continued, "I'm
taking you at your word. And now I must introduce Jackie to you.
Jackie's me second b'y. Now, Jackie dear, shake hands with Mr. Long and
tell him you're glad to see him. The baby's name, Harry, is Geraldine.
Besides her, I've got Terence who's a fine lad--oh, I know you'll be
glad to meet Terry!--and Rosie who's next to Terry and who's helping me
with the supper tonight so's to give me a chance to say 'How do you do'
to you. Ah, if I do say it, I've a fine brood of children and never a
word of bickering among them.... Now, Jackie dear, like a good b'y, will
you run upstairs and tell your da to come down this minute, that we're
waiting for him, and then run into the kitchen and ask sister Rosie if
the supper's ready."

Rosie slipped hurriedly back to the kitchen and then, through Jack,
summoned the family in.

When she was presented to the newcomer, she added to her first
impressions the smooth pinkish face of a city-bred man who had never
been exposed to the real violence of sun and wind, a cravat pin and seal
ring that were fellows to the watchfob, and hands that bore themselves
as if a little conscious of a recent visit to the manicure.

As Rosie gathered in these details, she saw, in contrast, the figure of
George Riley: the roughened weatherbeaten face, the cheap ill-fitting
clothes, the big hands coarsened with work, the heavy feet. Ellen, of
course, and girls like Ellen would be taken in by the new man's flashy
appearance and easy confident manner, but not Rosie. Rosie hated him on
sight! She knew the difference between tinsel and solid worth and she
longed to cry out to him: "You needn't think you can fool me, because
you can't! Any one can dress well who spends all he makes on clothes!
But how much money have you got salted away in the bank? Tell me that,
now!"

She had to shake hands with him, but when he stooped down to kiss her,
she jerked away and glared at him like an angry little cat.

"Why, Rosie!" Mrs. O'Brien exclaimed in shocked tones, "is that the way
you treat a family friend like Mr. Harry?"

"Family friend!" stormed Rosie; "I've never laid eyes on him before and
neither have you!"

Mrs. O'Brien's embarrassment deepened. "Rosie, I'm ashamed of you! Is
that the way for you to be treatin' a gentleman who's taking supper with
us? I tell you frankly I'm ashamed of you!"

Jamie O'Brien cleared his throat. "See here, Maggie, Rosie's perfectly
right. There's no call for her to be kissing a stranger. She's too big a
girl for that."

Mrs. O'Brien looked at her husband blankly. "Jamie O'Brien, how you
talk! Do you think it's becoming to call a man a stranger who's sitting
down with you at your own table?"

Jamie turned to his guest politely. "I'm sure, Mr. Long, I don't know
what all this noise is about. I'm like Rosie here. I've never seen you
before to me knowledge. But that's neither here nor there. You're here
now and you're welcome, and I hope we'll be friends. So let us drop the
argument and sit down."

It was an awkward beginning, but Jamie refused to be embarrassed and,
after a moment of silence, the others tried hard to follow his example.

Harry was evidently bent on pleasing.

"Ever been in St. Louis, Mr. O'Brien?" He spoke with a proprietorial air
as one might of a household pet, pronouncing the name of his city Louie.
"Fine place, St. Louie!"

"For meself," Jamie answered unexpectedly, "I never much cared for it.
It's a hot hole!"

Ellen flushed. "Why, Dad!"

Jamie looked up impatiently. "What's the matter now?"

"Dad, don't you know that St. Louie is where Harry lives?"

"I do not!" Jamie answered truthfully. "And, if you ask me, Ellen, I
don't see why I should."

"Jamie O'Brien!" Mrs. O'Brien gasped, "what's come over you? I haven't
heard you talk so much at table in ten years!" She turned to her guest.
"Would you believe me, Harry, there are weeks on end when I never get a
word out of him! Sometimes I think I'll forget how to talk meself for
lack of some one to exchange a word with! And to think," she concluded,
"that Jamie's been in St. Louie! I give you me word of honour I never
heard that before! Tell me, Jamie, when was it?"

Jamie ruminated a moment. "It must have been before we were married."

Mrs. O'Brien nodded her head. "That just proves what I always say:
little a woman can know about a man before she marries him."

She talked on and Harry gave her every encouragement, laughing heartily
at her anecdotes, asking further details, and making himself so
generally pleasant that, before supper was half done, the opening
embarrassment was forgotten and Mrs. O'Brien was exclaiming: "Well,
Harry, I must say one thing: I feel like I'd known you forever!"

Harry glanced at Ellen. "Shall we tell them?"

Ellen drew a quick breath. "We've got to sometime," she murmured.

Harry beamed on Mrs. O'Brien. "I'm mighty glad to hear you say that,
Mrs. O'Brien. There's nothing would please me better than to have you
like me. In fact, I'm hoping you like me well enough to take me for a
son-in-law!"

Mrs. O'Brien gasped: "What's this you're saying, Harry?"

Rosie, pale and tense, stood up. "Ellen," she said, looking straight at
her sister, "have you told him about Jarge Riley?"

Ellen laughed a little unsteadily. "Yes, Rosie, I told him. And I see
now you were right. It wasn't fair to Harry not to tell him. And I want
to apologize for getting so mad."

"Yes, Rosie was right," Harry repeated, smiling at her kindly. "Rosie
must have known I was dead gone on Ellen and meant business."

Rosie was not to be taken in by any such palaver as that. "No, Mr. Long,
you're mistaken. I was only thinking about Jarge Riley. Ellen's going to
marry him in the spring."

Harry still smiled at her ingratiatingly. "She's not going to marry him
now, Rosie. She can't because, don't you see, she married me this
afternoon!"

"What!" Rosie, feeling suddenly sick and weak, crumpled down into her
chair, a nerveless little mass that gaped and blinked and waited for the
world to come to an end.

There was a pause broken at last by an hysterical laugh from Ellen.
"Don't look at me like that, Rosie! I should think you'd be glad I was
married to some one else!"

Ellen's words brought Rosie to her senses. "I am glad!" she cried. "You
never cared two straws about Jarge, anyhow! But why did you have to be
so crooked with him? When he finds out the way you've done this, it'll
just break his heart! I guess I know!"

Jamie O'Brien cleared his throat. "Rosie, you talk too much! Will you
just hold your tongue a minute while I find out what all this clatter's
about. Mr. Long, sir, will you be so good as to explain things?"

There was no smile on Jamie's face and Harry, looking at him, seemed to
realize that it was not a time for pleasantries.

"I hope, Mr. O'Brien," he began soberly, "that you'll forgive me for not
taking things more slowly. I expected to until this morning when Ellen
told me about this Riley fellow. Then I sort of lost my head. I was
afraid of delays and misunderstandings. I've been just crazy about
Ellen. The first time I saw her I knew she was the girl for me and I
came to town today to tell her so. I suppose she knew what I was going
to say and down at the shop, the very first thing, she began telling me
about Riley. Mighty straight of her, I call it. She had got herself
engaged to him but she didn't want to marry him, and it just seemed to
me that the easiest way out of things was for us to get married right
quick. So we hustled over the river and got to the courthouse just
before closing time. It was really my fault, Mr. O'Brien. I made Ellen
do it."

Jamie looked at Ellen thoughtfully. "I don't believe you'd have made her
do it if she hadn't wanted to do it."

"You're right, Dad," Ellen said; "I did want to. I didn't know how
little I cared about George or any one else until Harry came along.
George is good and kind and all that, but we'd never have made a team. I
knew it perfectly well and I was wrong not to tell him so."

Jamie nodded his head. "You're right, Ellen. You've treated him pretty
badly."

Her father's apparent blame of Ellen brought Mrs. O'Brien back to life
and to speech. "Jamie O'Brien, I don't see how you can talk so about
poor Ellen! You know yourself many's the time I've said to you, 'I can't
see Ellen milkin' a cow.' For me own part I think she's wise to choose
the life she has."

"Do you know the life she's chosen?" Jamie asked quietly. "I'm frank to
say I don't." He turned to Harry. "Since you're me son-in-law, Mr. Long,
perhaps you'll be willing to tell me who you are."

"Oh, Dad!" Ellen murmured, and Mrs. O'Brien whispered, "Why, Jamie!"

Harry flushed but answered promptly: "I'm twenty-six years old. I'm a
St. Louie man. I'm a travelling salesman for the Great Ostrich Feather
Company, head office at St. Louie. I'm on a twenty dollar a week salary
with commissions that usually run me up to thirty dollars."

Harry paused and Jamie remarked: "Plenty for a single man. You might
even have saved a bit on it, I'm thinking."

Harry hesitated. "No," he said slowly; "I'll tell you the truth. I've
been kind of a fool about money. I haven't saved a cent."

Rosie sat up suddenly. "I knew it!" she cried.

"Rosie!" whispered Mrs. O'Brien. "Shame on you!"

"Well, I just did!" Rosie insisted.

Her father, paying no heed to her, went on with his catechism: "But even
if you didn't save anything, I'm thinking with that salary you're not in
debt."

"Dad!" murmured Ellen in an agony of embarrassment.

"Be quiet, Ellen, and let your husband talk."

The flush on Harry's face deepened. "I'm sorry to say I have a few
debts--not many. I've been paying them off since I've known Ellen."

"There!" cried Mrs. O'Brien in triumph. "Do you hear that, Jamie!"

"Since you've known Ellen," Jamie repeated. "How long may that be?"

"I think it's nearly a month."

"H'm! Nearly a month.... Well, now, Mr. Long, since you've got a wife
and a few debts, is it your idea, if I might ask you, to start
housekeeping?"

"Dad!" Ellen cried; "I don't see why you put it that way! We've got
everything planned out."

Jamie was imperturbable. "I'd like to hear your plans, Ellen."

"We're not going housekeeping. I hate housekeeping, anyway. We're going
boarding."

"Boarding, do you say?" Jamie ruminated a moment. "If you were to ask
me, Mr. Long, I'd tell you that twenty dollars won't go far in
supporting a wife in idleness."

"Ellen don't want to be idle, Mr. O'Brien. It's her own idea to keep on
with millinery, and of course I can get her into a good shop in St.
Louie."

It was Mrs. O'Brien's turn to feel dismay. "Do you mean to tell me,
Ellen, that, as a married woman, you're keeping on working?"

Ellen's answer was decided. "I'd rather do millinery than housekeeping.
Millinery ain't half as hard for me. I told Harry so this afternoon and
he said all right."

"But, Ellen dear," wailed Mrs. O'Brien, "people'll be thinking that your
husband can't support you!"

Ellen laughed. "As long as I know different, that won't matter."

Jamie gave Ellen unexpected support. "Maggie, I think Ellen's right.
It'll be much better to be a good milliner than a poor housekeeper."
Jamie paused and looked at the young people thoughtfully. "Well, you're
married now, both of you, and perhaps you're well matched. I dunno.
Ellen's been a headstrong girl, never thinking of any one but herself
and, from your own account, Harry, you're much the same. You've both
jumped into this thing without thinking, but you'll have plenty of time
for thinking from now on. Well, it's high time you both had a bit of
discipline. It'll make a man and a woman of you. I don't altogether like
the way you've started out, but you're started now and there's no more
to say. So here's my hand on it, Harry, and may neither of you regret
this day!"

Jamie reached across the table and the younger man, in grateful
humility, grasped his hand. "Thank you, Mr. O'Brien," he said simply.
"You've made me see a few things."

Ellen got up and went around to her father's chair. "I have been
thoughtless and selfish, Dad. I see that now. I hope you'll forgive me."
There were tears in her eyes, and her lips, as she put them against her
father's cheek, trembled a little.

Harry turned himself to the task of winning his mother-in-law. "Is it
all right, Mrs. O'Brien?"

All right, indeed! Who could resist so handsome a son-in-law? Certainly
not Mrs. O'Brien. She broke out in tears and laughter.

[Illustration: They all looked at Rosie, who sat, oblivious of them,
staring off into nothing.]

"Ah, Harry, you rogue, come here and kiss me this minute!... Why," she
continued, "do you know, Harry, I had a presintimint the moment you
entered the gate! 'What a fine-looking couple!' says I to meself. And
the next minute I says, 'I wouldn't be a bit surprised if they made a
match of it!' Why, Harry, I've never seen a fella come and turn us all
topsy-turvy as you've done! Here I am talkin' me head off and Jamie
O'Brien's been doing the same! Do you mind, Ellen, the way your da's
been talkin'? You're not sick, are you, Jamie?"

Jamie chuckled quietly. "It's just I'm a little excited having a
daughter run off and get married."

"Oh, Dad!" Ellen begged.

"I suppose," Jamie went on, "Rosie'll be at it next."

They all looked at Rosie, who sat, oblivious of them, staring off into
nothing.

"What's the matter, Rosie?" her father asked.

Rosie roused herself. "I was just thinking about Jarge. Who's going to
tell him?"

"Ellen, of course," Jamie said. "Ellen'll have to write him."

"But will she do it?" Rosie persisted.

A look of annoyance crossed Ellen's face. "Of course I will. I'll have
plenty of time because I'm not going to St. Louie for a week. I'll write
him tomorrow."

Rosie looked at her sister curiously. She wanted to say: "You know
perfectly well you won't write him tomorrow or the next day or the day
after. You'll put it off from day to day and at last you'll go, and
then you'll never think of it again and poor Jarge'll come down here on
Thanksgiving expecting to find you, and then we'll have to tell him."

This is what Rosie wanted to say. But she restrained herself. When she
spoke, it was in a different tone. "All right, Ellen, I won't bother you
again. What dad says is true: you and Harry are married and that's all
there is about it. I hope you'll both be happy." Rosie hesitated a
moment, then walked over to Harry's chair. "And, Harry, I'm sorry I was
rude to you when you tried to kiss me. You see, I didn't know you were
Ellen's husband."

Rosie hadn't intended to be funny, but evidently she was, for a shout of
laughter went up and Harry gathered her in with a hug and a kiss.

"You're all right, Rosie!" he whispered. "I like you for the way you
stand up for George!"

_For the way she stood up for George!_... Tears filled Rosie's eyes. She
had tried faithfully to guard George's interests like the little
watch-dog Ellen had called her. But George would never know. How could
he? All he would know now was that he had been betrayed.

CHAPTER XLI

THE GREATEST TEACHER IN THE WORLD

Rosie kept her promise faithfully. During the week that elapsed before
Ellen's departure, she was careful not to mention George Riley's name.
The time for discussion of any subject that might prove unpleasant to
Ellen was past. Ellen was going, never to return--at any rate, never as
one of them in the sense that she had been one of them and, for their
own sakes as well as for hers, it behooved them all to make those last
days as frictionless as possible. The approaching separation did not
bring Rosie any closer to Ellen nor Ellen any closer to her, but it made
them both strangely considerate of one another and also a little shy.

Like Rosie, Terence and Jack regarded Ellen's going with deep interest
but with very little feeling. Between them and her there had always been
war and there probably always would be if they continued to live under
the same roof. They had their mother's word for it that Ellen was their
own sister and that they ought to love her, but they did not for that
reason love her nor did she love them. Yet they did not question that
pretty fallacy which their mother offered them as an axiom, namely,
that love is the inevitable bond between brothers and sisters, since
boys and girls, like men and women, have a way of keeping separate the
truths of experience and the forms of inherited belief. With Rosie they
instinctively called a truce. Ellen will soon be gone, their attitude
said, so let's not fight any more. To show their sincerity, Terry
polished Ellen's shoes and asked if there was anything more he could do,
and Jack ran numberless errands without once asking payment.

Mrs. O'Brien more than made up for the indifference of the rest of the
family. Her grief at Ellen's departure was very genuine and very loud.
Ellen had always seemed to her mother a paragon of beauty and talent and
now she had made a fine match and was going off to St. Louie, poor girl,
where she'd be far away from her own people in case of illness or
distress. Mrs. O'Brien was so nearly overcome at the actual moment of
farewell that Jamie and Terry had to drag her off to a soda fountain
before the train was fairly started.

Ellen, too, was affected at the last as Rosie had never seen her
affected. She kissed Rosie, then looked at her a moment sadly. "Say,
kid," she said, "I'm sorry we haven't been better friends. I'm afraid it
was my fault."

Rosie gulped. "I was as much to blame as you. I see it now."

Ellen touched Rosie's cheek impulsively. "If ever I get a home of my
own in St. Louie, will you come and make me a visit?"

Rosie's thought was: "If ever you get a home of your own, you'll never
remember me." Her spoken answer, though, was all that it should be:
"Ellen, I'd love to."

Rosie, you see, knew Ellen's character pretty well. What she did not
know and could not as yet know was this: that the Ellen of tomorrow
might not be quite the Ellen of today; that life probably held
experiences for Ellen that would at last make her look back on home and
family with a new understanding and a feeling of genuine tenderness.

Ellen's train pulled out and Rosie watched it go with a sigh of relief.
The chapter of Family Chronicles entitled Ellen was finished. That is,
it was finished so far as any new interest was concerned. Yet, like the
hand of a dead man touching the living through the clauses of a last
will, so Ellen, though gone, continued to touch Rosie on a spot already
sensitive beyond endurance.

Rosie had not spoken of George Riley during Ellen's last week. She had
tried to suppress even the thought of him. Now the time was come when
she had again to think of him, and she was so tired and weary of the
whole problem that she felt unequal to the task of working out its
solution.

"Do you know, Danny," she remarked that afternoon to her old friend,
"I'd give anything to go off somewheres where I don't know anybody and
where nobody knows me. I'm just so tired of this old town that I don't
know what to do."

Danny nodded sympathetically. "I'm thinking you're in need of a little
change, Rosie. Maybe you could go out to the country for a day or two at
Thanksgiving."

Rosie knew perfectly well what Danny meant but, for conversational
reasons, she asked: "Where in the country, Danny?"

"Well, I was thinking of the Riley farm. I'm sure Mrs. Riley would be
crazy to have you."

Rosie shook her head. "I can't go out there because Jarge is coming
here." She paused a moment. "He's coming to see Ellen. You know, Danny,
he thinks he's engaged to Ellen."

"What!" Danny's little eyes blinked rapidly. "Don't he know yet that
she's married to the other fella?"

"How can he know when no one's told him? Ellen said she would, but of
course she didn't."

Danny's expression grew serious. "Rosie dear, he ought to be told! He
ought t' have been told at once! You don't mean to say, Rosie, you'll
let him come down on Thanksgiving without a word of warning?"

Rosie shrugged her shoulders. "I don't see that it's any of my
business."

Danny looked at her sharply. "Why, Rosie dear, what's come over you?"

Rosie sighed. "I don't know, Danny. I'm just kind o' tired of things."
She made a sudden change of subject. "Wisht I didn't have to go to
school! I hate school this year. I don't see why I have to go, anyway.
I'm not going to be a teacher."

There was no mistaking Rosie's dejection and Danny, instead of scoffing
it away, accepted it quietly.

"I'm sorry to hear you say that about school, Rosie. I was thinkin'
you'd be in High School next year."

"I would be, if I passed. Ellen went through High School, and now
Terry's in the first year, and of course dad wants me to go, too. But I
don't see why I should. You know, Danny, I'm not very bright in school.
I'm not a bit like Janet. I've got to work awful hard just barely to
pass. I don't think I'd have passed last year if Janet hadn't helped me.
But I can cook and do a lot of things that Janet can't do. I know
perfectly well I could never be a teacher, so I don't see the use of
keeping on at school."

"You surprise me, Rosie!" Danny peered at her earnestly. "Do you think
that's the only reason for going to school--so's to be a teacher?"

Rosie nodded. "I don't see any other."

"And what do you want to be, Rosie?"

"I don't want to be anything."

"Don't you want to do something?"

"No."

"But, Rosie dear, that's no way to talk. You know you can't sit through
life with folded hands, doing nothing."

Rosie protested: "But, Danny, I don't expect to do nothing. I know I
have to work and I do work, too. You ask ma. I take care of Geraldine
night and day, and you needn't think it isn't a big job taking care of a
baby, because it is. And I used to take care of Jarge Riley, too. Old
Mis' Riley herself told me I took as good care of him as she did. And
she meant it, too. Oh, I could just work forever for Geraldine and
Jarge."

Danny looked at her a few moments in silence. "Rosie dear," he said
gently, "pull your chair over close. I want to talk to you."

Rosie obeyed and, after a slight pause, Danny continued: "You're
troubled about Jarge, aren't you, Rosie?"

Rosie's eyes filled with tears. "I suppose I am, Danny."

"Rosie," Danny asked slowly, "are you in love with Jarge?"

The question startled Rosie. She stared blankly through her tears. "Why,
Danny, how can you say a thing like that? I'm only a little girl and
Jarge is a grown man!"

"But you'd like to take care of him all the time, wouldn't you, Rosie?"

Rosie nodded. "You bet I would! If I could have just Jarge and
Geraldine, I wouldn't care how hard I'd have to work! I'd do anything
for both of them. Don't you know, Danny, I just feel like they're
_mine_!"

"I thought so, Rosie." Danny sighed and cleared his throat. "Now listen
carefully, Rosie, what I've got to say. As you say yourself you're only
a little girl now, but in a few years you'll be a big girl, as big as
Ellen is today. And then perhaps, Rosie, you'll be marrying some one."

"No, Danny, no!" Rosie cried. "I don't want to be marrying some one,
honest I don't!"

Danny waved aside the interruption. "As I was saying, perhaps you'll be
marrying some one, and then after while you'll be having babies of your
own."

"Oh, Danny!" A look of wonder, almost of ecstasy, spread over Rosie's
face. Instinctively her arms reached out for the precious burden of the
future. "Do you really mean it, Danny?" she whispered. "My _own_!"

"Yes, Rosie, I mean it. And you'll be a wonderful mother, for you'll
know how to feed your children properly and take proper care of them.
But in one way, Rosie, I fear you'll be a pretty poor mother."

The light in Rosie's eyes went out. "Why do you say that, Danny?"

"You won't be able to help them in their schoolin' and they'll probably
all turn out poor ignur'nt b'ys and girls, with no opportunity to rise
in the world. And if they do get on in school, they'll soon be scornin'
their poor mother and lookin' down on her because she hasn't had the
education she might have had. And when their father sees how they feel,
I'm afeared he'll begin feelin' the same and thinkin' he'd made an awful
mistake marryin' such an ignur'nt woman."

"Oh, Danny, stop! Stop!" Tears of self-pity already filled Rosie's eyes.

"So I say to you, Rosie, if I was a little girl, I'd want to keep on
going to school even if I didn't expect to be a teacher. And for that
matter, darlint, isn't a mother the greatest teacher in the world?
Aren't you yourself Geraldine's teacher every day of your life?"

Rosie's eyes stretched wide in surprise. "Danny, I believe you're right!
A mother is a teacher, isn't she?"

"Sure she is, Rosie. And the better her own education is, the better
chance she has of being a good teacher. That stands to reason, don't it
now?"

Rosie nodded slowly. "Do you know, Danny, I never thought of that
before." She ruminated a moment. "Really and truly it just seems like
every girl in the world ought to have a good education. I always did
think that ignorant mothers were awful and they are, too."

"You're right, Rosie, they are. They're a hindrance to their children
instead of a help."

Rosie took a deep breath. "Wouldn't it just be wonderful to have a baby
really and truly your own?" She gazed off into space. Then her
expression changed. "But, Danny, I'll never marry."

"Is that so?" Danny started to laugh, then checked himself.

"You see, Danny, it's this way: Maybe you're right. Maybe I am in love
with Jarge. Anyway, I know I'll never love anybody else half as much as
I love him."

"If that's the case," Danny remarked casually, "the only thing for you
to do is to marry Jarge."

"Danny!" Rosie looked at him reproachfully. "I don't think it's kind of
you to make fun of me that way. I know I'm only a kid."

"I didn't mean to marry him this minute," Danny explained. "I expected
you to take your time about it--after you had finished school and were
grown up and all that."

"Oh!" Rosie sat up very straight. She spoke a little breathlessly. "But,
Danny, won't Jarge be too old then?"

Danny drew a long face. "I had forgotten all about that, Rosie. To be
sure he will. He must be ten or fifteen years older than you this
minute."

"No, Danny, no! He's not! He's only six years older--about six and a
half. I'm thirteen now. I had a birthday last month. And he's nineteen
and a half. I know because he's four months older than Ellen."

"Six years, do you say?" Danny mumbled. "Well, now, that's a good many,
Rosie. Let's see: when you're eighteen, he'll be twenty-four. H'm. At
twenty-four a lad's getting on, ain't he? Of course a lot of them don't
marry nowadays till thirty but, if they'd ask me advice, I'd tell them
to settle down with the right girl by the time they're twenty-five....
Yes, Rosie, you're right: Jarge'd be pretty old. Six years is a pretty
big difference."

Rosie tossed her head. "I'm not so sure about that! Let's see now: Harry
Long is twenty-six and that makes him seven years older than Ellen, and
I'm sure Harry and Ellen look fine together! No one would ever think of
calling Harry old! Why, he don't look a bit old!"

Danny shrugged his shoulders. "Well, Rosie, have it your own way!"

"Danny Agin, how you talk! Have it my own way, indeed! It isn't my way,
it's just facts!"

Danny looked bored. "Well, anyway, it's all in the future, so why are we
arguin' now? You'll be falling in love and probably falling out again
with half a dozen lads before you're eighteen, and by the time you're
twenty you'll probably be happily married to some one you've never yet
laid eyes on. That's how it goes. And in that case, you'll have long
since forgotten all about poor old Jarge Riley."

"Is that so?" Rosie spoke rather coldly, not to say sarcastically.
However, she did not dispute Danny's word. If that was his opinion, he
was, of course, welcome to it. By the same token, Rosie claimed a like
privilege for herself. The way she pressed her lips together told very
plainly that her opinion differed somewhat from Danny's.

Presently Danny opened on another subject. "Now about Jarge Riley: If
you ask me advice, Rosie, I think you had better write him a letter. It
would be a bad thing to have him come down here not knowin' about
Ellen."

Rosie's face changed. "But, Danny, it would be an awful hard letter to
write and, besides, it isn't my business."

"That's so," Danny agreed. "Perhaps now you'd better not meddle. When I
suggested it, it was only because I was thinkin' that you and Jarge were
such good friends that you'd be wantin' to spare him a little. But,
after all, he's a man, so he might as well come down and find things out
for himself. It'll be an awful shock, but no matter. Besides, maybe
Ellen'll write him. In fact, I'm sure she will."

"Ellen!" Rosie snorted scornfully. "Ellen never yet has done anything
she hasn't wanted to do and I don't see her beginning now!"

"We've all got to begin some time," Danny remarked.

Rosie pointed her finger impressively. "Danny Agin, I know Ellen O'Brien
Long better than you do and, when I say she'll never write a line to
Jarge, I guess I know what I'm talking about."

"I'm sure you do," Danny murmured meekly. "If you say she won't, she
won't. I wouldn't question your word for a hundred dollars. If you tell
me that Jarge is not to get a letter, then it's settled. He won't get a
letter." Danny sighed. "Poor Jarge! I do feel sorry for him! It'll be an
awful shock to him!" Danny sighed again. "But, of course, every one has
to take a few shocks in this life. Ah, me!"

Rosie sighed, too. "If I was to write him, Danny, what would I say?"

Danny wagged his head. "It'd be a pretty hard letter and, as you say
yourself, why should you?"

"I know it would be hard," Rosie agreed, "but, if I wanted to write it,
I guess it wouldn't be too hard for me. Only I'm not quite sure what to
say."

Danny squinted his little eyes thoughtfully. "Well, Rosie, if I was
writing such a letter, to begin with I'd tell me bad news as quickly as
I could and have it over with. Then, if it was some one I was real fond
of, I'd tell him what I thought of him. It don't hurt any one to be told
he has a friend or two. Then I'd fill in with all the family news and
talk I could, so's he wouldn't feel lonely. At first he wouldn't have
eyes for anything but the bad news, but, after while, he'd begin to take
comfort from the rest of the letter and, if it was written with lots of
love and feelin', I'm thinkin' there'd come a time when he'd be readin'
that part over and over and over again, I dunno how many times, and
takin' a little more comfort from it each time."

Rosie stood up a little breathlessly. "Good-bye, Danny. I must hurry
home. I've got something to do."

"Don't be runnin' off," Danny begged. "Besides, I'm not done yet with
the letter. As I was sayin', I wouldn't try to finish it in one sitting.
I'd write at it as much as I could every day and in a week's time it'd
be a good big letter."

"But, Danny, Thanksgiving's not more than three weeks off!"

"Three weeks, do you say? That's bad. The poor lad ought to be given two
weeks' notice at least. So if any one was to write him, they'd better
begin at once. They'd have to write every day for a week pretty
steadily."

"Is that all, Danny?"

"It's all I think of just now. If you was to sit awhile longer, Rosie,
maybe something more would come to me."

"I don't believe I better, Danny. I'm awful busy. I must get home."

"But you'll stop awhile tomorrow, darlint, won't you? Promise me you
will."

Rosie thought a moment. "It's this way, Danny: I'm a little behind in
school and I've got to catch up. And, besides that, I'll be very busy
for a week on something else. I don't believe I'll have time to stop
tomorrow but, if I have, I will. Good-bye."

Rosie started off, then turned back a little shyly. She put her arm
about old Danny's neck and kissed him on the cheek. "Danny, you're
awful good to me. And do you know, Danny, after Jarge and Geraldine and
Janet I think I love you best of all!"

Danny chuckled. "Well, I suppose fourth ch'ice is better than no ch'ice
at all!"

CHAPTER XLII

THE ROSIE MORROW

For a whole week Rosie worked away at her letter. She followed Danny's
advice and added new pages each day. As a result her manuscript grew in
bulk with startling rapidity. She had to buy a big envelope for it and
then spend a large part of a week's wages on postage stamps.

Here is what she wrote:

DEAR GEORGE,

How are you and how is your mother and how is your father? Tell your
mother that Geraldine is growing so fast that she would hardly know her.

George, I've got some bad news for you. Only it isn't as bad as it
sounds, for I know it will be all right in the end. George, Ellen's got
married. He's a feather salesman. He wears sporty clothes. He's
twenty-six years old. That makes him seven years older than Ellen. He's
a good-looker. Him and Ellen are just the same kind. They both like to
dress and to gad around.

George, I know you're going to feel awful bad about this at first, but
listen, George, it would have been an awful thing to plant Ellen out on
a farm. She would have hated it. She would have been unhappy and that
would have made you unhappy. And I don't think Ellen and your mother
would have liked each other either and they would have to live together
and then where would you be? George, don't you see, you're a farmer and
you ought to pick out the kind of girl that likes farm life and that
knows how to work. George, Ellen just loves the city where she can go to
the theatre and dances and things and she never would like the country.
Don't you see, George? I don't mean that Ellen was right to get married
without telling you. She ought to have told you. I know that. But,
George, I think she was a little bit scared of you. Really and truly,
George, I don't think she would ever have got engaged to you if that
Hawes man hadn't insulted her. Then afterwards, George, she didn't know
how to get away from you. But she wanted to, honest she did.

George, I'm awful sorry to be the one to tell you this. But I thought I
better because it wouldn't be fair to have you come down on Thanksgiving
without knowing. And I thought it would be better for you to hear it
from me than from any one else. You and me, George, are awful good
friends and I love you like I love Geraldine and I'd give anything not
to have to tell you something that will hurt you and make you feel bad.
Honest, George, I'm awful sorry.

George, all your friends always ask for you. The other day Danny Agin
asked about you. Danny's pretty well but he ain't very strong these days
and me and Mrs. Agin are a little bit worried. I don't know what I'd do
without Danny. Sometimes he thinks he's funny and then me and Mrs. Agin
have to scold him, but I just love him and so does Mrs. Agin even when
she pretends she don't. You know, George, you can't help it because
really and truly he's always so kind and gentle. And he gives awful good
advice when you're worried about something. I always stand up for Danny.
I told him once that he is my fourth best friend. I put you first,
George, and then Geraldine, and then Janet.

And, George, do you know about Janet? Dave McFadden has never once fell
off the water wagon! What do you know about that? Mrs. McFadden got home
from the hospital just after you left. She's real weak and she'll
probably never be able to work again. She just sits around and complains
and what do you think? Dave waits on her like she was a baby and don't
say a word. Miss Harris from the Settlement House explained about it to
Janet and me. She said that time that Dave was laid up with a broken leg
and Mrs. McFadden began working out and Dave saw how easy it was for him
to get along without supporting Mrs. McFadden and Janet that he lost the
sense of family responsibility. And Miss Harris says it just took a
thing like this to wake him up. And Miss Harris says it was Mrs.
McFadden's big mistake to take Dave's place ever because lots of men
are just that way when they see their wives and mothers can earn money
by working out they just let them and Miss Harris says a woman has
enough to do at home and taking care of her children. I'm sure my mother
has, don't you think so, George?

The McFaddens are real comfortable now because all Dave's money comes
home. They're going to move out of that horrible tenement next week.
They've rented a little four-room house in the next block to us. Janet
ain't very good friends with her father. She hardly ever talks to him
and he hardly ever talks to her. She says how can she when she looks at
her mother. But she says now she'll keep on at school. She thought she'd
have to go to work. You know Janet's just crazy about school. She wants
to go through High School and be a teacher. I want to go through High
School, too, but I don't want to be a teacher. I think a girl ought to
go through High School, don't you, George? because if she ever has any
children of her own she wouldn't want them to grow up and think their
mother was an ignorant old thing. And, besides, if she hasn't got a good
education herself, how can she teach her children? And really and truly,
George, you know a good mother has to be a teacher. Did you ever think
of that before?

George, I don't suppose I'll ever marry. But if I was to marry, do you
know the kind of man I'd pick out? I'd take a farmer every time! I just
love the country, George, and I just love the kind of work a farmer's
wife has to do. You ask your mother if I don't. There wasn't a thing
that Mrs. Riley did last summer that she didn't teach me, and she told
me herself I was awful quick about learning.

My, my, George, did you ever think how fast time flies? Here I'm
thirteen now and it won't be hardly any time before I'm eighteen. When
I'm eighteen I'll be grown up and getting ready to graduate from High
School. Will you promise me to come down and see the graduation? I'd
rather have you come than any one else in the world. Let's see how old
you'll be then? You'll be twenty-four. That's not so awful old. Maybe
you won't even be married. Lots of men nowadays don't get married until
they're thirty. But I think you ought to get married by the time you're
twenty-five. And you ought to get a wife that would love your mother and
would be willing to take some of the work off her shoulders. That's why
I say to you that you ought to pick out a girl that loves the country
and isn't afraid of work. And you ought to take a girl that's gone
through High School, too, because it's a mistake for a man to marry an
ignorant woman that he'd be ashamed of.

George, I can't tell you how much I miss you. I miss you every day. We
always had such good times together, didn't we? Do you remember all the
times you took me to the movies and for street-car rides and things like
that? I remember every one of them. And whenever I was bothered about
anything you were always so kind to me. Other people are kind to me,
too. Danny Agin is. I love Danny Agin, too, but I love you first.

George, I don't think I could get on without you if I didn't have
Geraldine. Seems like I just got to have some one to love. When I get
real lonely for you, I take Geraldine and give her a good scrubbing and
then dress her up and take her out for a walk.

George, I don't know when I'll see you again, but listen here, George, I
want you to remember one thing. It won't make any difference how long it
is because I'll love you just the same.

And, George, I love your mother, too, and she told me that she loved me.
Will you tell her that I hope she's well and that I'll never forget how
kind she was to me and Geraldine last summer. And I hope your father's
well, too.

Terry says to say Hello to you. And he says, how's farming? Jackie's
getting awful big and he's real smart in school. He always gets a
hundred in problems.

Ma and dad are well and I told you all about Janet. So that's all now.

    With love,
        Yours truly,
            ROSIE O'BRIEN.

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Transcriber's Note:

Spelling and hyphenation have been retained as they appear in
the original publication.

Changes have been made as follows:

    Page 175 on one side the gate _changed to_
             on one side of the gate

    Page 190 Good for Jarge! _changed to_
             Good for Jarge!"

    Page 227 had happened Janet _changed to_
             had happened to Janet

    In the advertisements
             Louisa Olcott _changed to_
             Louisa Alcott