Daphne laughed happily.

"I wish I thought he liked to look at me, but--"

"But what?"

"Well--he doesn't ever seem very anxious to see me. He's invited to lots of places where he knows I will be, and he doesn't come."

"You mean dances and things like that. Laws sakes, Daphne, ain't he got nothin' better than to go to dances and daddle around the room with a fool girl--"

"But I'm not a fool girl."

"No one would know it by your actions sometimes."

"I guess you are right, Miss Doane. I do act as if nothing were worth while but having a good time."

"Yes; I seen a lot of your friends and I often think that a young man's takin' a lot of risk by marryin' one of you unless he's got nothin' to do in the world but to go to parties and to make money to buy you clothes and motorcars. But never mind--here we are. You go upstairs and get the doctor. Tell him I want to talk to him particular."

Daphne was gone longer than was actually needed to go to an office and fetch a man to the motor car, but Drusilla only smiled when they came down.

"Did we keep you waiting? I am so sorry," murmured Daphne.

Drusilla laughed.

"Yes, you look worried to death; but I won't scold you. You don't git much chance to talk alone together, and I suppose you wanted to discuss the latest improvements in medicine. It's a big subject and would take time."

"Oh, no, we didn't talk at all--the doctor--was busy--"

The doctor laughed.

"What is it you want to see me about, Miss Doane?"

"I want to talk to you about mothers and their babies. I'll tell you all about it after dinner. Daphne's goin' home and you and me and John'll set down and talk it all over. John ain't no good; he ain't what you call sensible, but he's comfortable. And I got some new things on my mind.

"Yes," broke in Daphne. "Miss Doane has been visiting our Settlement."

The doctor smiled.

"What do you think of it?"

Before Drusilla could reply, Daphne said: "What do you think Dr.

Eaton calls them, Miss Doane? It's dreadful. He calls them the 'decayed gentle ladies' refuge.'"

The doctor flushed.

"Daphne--"

"Do you?" queried Drusilla, interestedly. "Why?"

"Well--" the doctor said rather apologetically, "perhaps I shouldn't; but most of the settlements that I know are filled with workers who are charming women, too good to be stenographers or clerks or housekeepers. They come to the settlements, where they receive a good salary and keep their social position, which they feel they could not do if they worked. You see it's rather a fad to be a social settlement worker, and most of the women couldn't make their living to save their soul at work that really took trained brains or executive ability."

"Do tell!" said Drusilla. "I kind of thought something like that when I saw Mrs. Harris, but she seemed to be real pert."

"Oh, I am only generalizing. Some of them, the heads especially, are competent women, but the great average--" and he spread his hands out expressively.

"Well, anyway, Dr. Eaton--you remember that big blue pencil that we use to draw across the names that ain't no good?--I got a new name to-day to add to that list--settlements--and I want to git home and sharpen the pencil."

CHAPTER XIII

Drusilla had one neighbor whom, to use her own words, she "couldn't abide." Miss Sarah Lee lived across the road from her, in a small house left her by her father. This old man had also left her money enough to live in a modest way, and an unkind Providence had left her high and dry on the matrimonial sh.o.r.es, and she was embittered. She had been born and reared in Brookvale and had seen the other girls married and settled in their homes, with their children growing up around them. She had tried for years to get a husband, but finally, at the age of thirty-eight, had given up the fight; and instead of sharing in the happiness of her lifelong neighbors, she had drifted into being the neighborhood gossip, picking flaws in everything and searching with microscopic eye to find the failures in the lives of those around her, trying to find satisfaction in her unmarried state by seeing only the darker side of the matrimonial adventures around her. If a man came home late after dining well but not wisely with his companions, be sure Sarah Lee heard of it. She would take her sewing and go to some neighbor and say in her softly purring voice, "Isn't it too bad that Mr. Smith neglects his wife so dreadfully, and it is shocking the way he drinks. Now the other night, etc., etc.,"

until her garrulous tongue would make a great crime of perhaps only a small indiscretion. Drusilla had been a joy to her, as she was new in the neighborhood, and she regaled her with all the gossip, much to Drusilla's disgust and discomfiture; but she was too kindly to be rude to the bitter-tongued woman, who was the only one of her neighbors who "ran in" or who brought their sewing and sat down for a "real visit."

One morning Drusilla was sitting in the sun parlor, looking at a great box of baby clothing that had been sent her from the city, when Miss Lee came in. She had her tatting with her and Drusilla saw that she was in for a visitation. She tried to interest her guest in the wonders of the baby frocks, but Miss Lee only shook her head and would not notice them.

"I don't care for children nor their clothing, Miss Doane, and I can never see how you care to burden yourself with all those waifs at your time of life. Now I, if I had your money, would enjoy myself."

"But I am enjoying myself," said Drusilla. "Why I take more comfort in them babies than I've ever had in all my seventy years."

"But they are such a care, such a bother."

"Bother, my aunt!" said Drusilla emphatically. "They ain't no bother. They give me something to think about. Now, look at these clothes. I been all mornin' lookin' at 'em and sortin' 'em out. Look at that petticoat. See how soft and warm it is. I wish I'd made it myself. I can sit here and imagine how some mother'd feel makin' a petticoat like that fer her baby. I'm goin' to buy a lot of cloth and git some patterns and let the mothers make 'em themselves. When it's a little warmer they can set under the trees and sew while the babies is playin' around them."

"But the mothers you have here--will--do you think that cla.s.s--those kind of mothers will care to sew?"

Drusilla flushed and an angry gleam came into her kindly eyes.

"Sew? Why shouldn't they sew, and what do you mean by that cla.s.s?

All the mothers I got here seem jest like any other mothers."

"We must admit," went on the refined, querulous voice, "that they are not the usual mothers--with husbands--"

Drusilla's eyes distinctly darkened, and the flush deepened.

"Never mind about their husbands. We don't need 'em to sew--and a mother's a mother, and she likes to make things fer her baby."

Miss Lee noted the flush and changed the subject.

"I hear you are going to take some Italians and their children here for the summer."

Drusilla's eyes lighted up, and the angry gleam fled instantly.

"Now, how did you hear that?"

"It's all over the neighborhood. And--"