Instead of the inefficient stenographer who, a few moments before, had sought to hide her discomfiture in a bl.u.s.ter of abuse, she was now a poor deserving working-girl who had been put upon by an unscrupulous employer. Conscious of her own worth and made courageous by that consciousness, she had been able, it now seemed to her, to hold her own in a manner which must excite the admiration of her family.

"Well, when he used such language to me, I saw all right what kind of a man he was and I just gave it to him straight. 'I see what you're after,' I says to him. 'You think you're going to bounce me before my week's up and you think I'm so meek that I'll leave without saying a word! But I just won't!' I says to him. 'You hired me for a week and if you think you can throw me out without paying me a week's salary, you're mighty mistaken! I've got a father,' I says to him, 'and he'll make it hot for you!'"

Upon Mrs. O'Brien at least the effect of the story was almost terrifying. "Ellen, Ellen," she wailed, "what makes you talk so? You didn't really say that to the gentleman, did you?"

"I didn't, eh?" Ellen tossed her head defiantly. "You just bet I did!"

"Then what did he say?" It was Terry who again asked the question that would help the narrative on.

Ellen smiled triumphantly. "He had nothing more to say to me. He just called the book-keeper over to him and says: 'Pay this young woman a week's wages and let her go.' Yes, that was every word he said. Then, without even looking at me, he turned his back and began sorting the papers on his desk. Fine manners for a gentleman, I say!"

Before she finished, every member of the family had looked up in quick surprise.

"Do you mean," Mrs. O'Brien quavered, "do you mean, Ellen dear, that he paid you?"

Ellen glanced at her mother scornfully. "Of course I mean he paid me!

Here!" She opened her handbag and exhibited a wad of bills. "One five and three ones! Pretty good pay for two days' work--what?"

Mrs. O'Brien turned devout eyes to heaven. "Thank G.o.d, Ellen dear, he paid you! I was a-fearin' all your hard work was going for nuthin'!

Thank G.o.d, you'll be able to start in this week payin' your board like you intended."

Ellen looked at her mother coldly. "Say, Ma, what do you think I am? I told you I'd begin paying three dollars a week as soon as I got a good steady job. Well, have I got a good steady job? No. In fact, I'm out of a job. So you'll just have to wait like everybody else."

"But, Ellen dear,"--Mrs. O'Brien stretched out an appealing, indefinite hand--"what's this you're saying when you've got the money right there?

It's only Tuesda' now and if you start out bright and early tomorrow hunting a new job, what with your fine looks and your fine education, you'll be sure to land one by the end of the week. And then, don't you see, there won't be any break in your payroll at all."

Ellen waved her mother airily aside. "Say, Ma, you don't know anything about it. If you think I'm going to start out again tomorrow morning, you make a mighty big mistake. I'm going to take a couple of days off, I am. I think I deserve them. I guess I've earned my living for this week.

Besides, I've got some shopping to do. I need a new hat and a lot of things."

"A new hat, Ellen? What's this ye're sayin'? Why, ye've not been wearing this last one a day longer than two weeks. It's a beautiful hat if ye'd not abuse it." Mrs. O'Brien lifted it carefully from the floor where it still lay and held it up for general inspection. "Why, Ellen, ye don't know how becomin' it is to you. Just the other morning, while I was sh.e.l.ling peas, Jarge Riley says to me----"

"Just cut out George Riley!" Ellen interrupted sharply. "I don't care what George Riley says! I'm going to get some decent clothes and that's all there is about it!"

Terry grunted derisively. "Say, Rosie, ain't we winners?"

Ellen flushed, conscious for the first time of Terry's disapproval. She looked at him angrily, then turned to her mother. "Now, Ma, just listen to that! He's always nagging at me and you never say a word!"

"Terry, Terry," Mrs. O'Brien murmured wearily, "why do ye be talkin'

that way of your own sister? The next time she gets a job, I'm sure she'll begin payin' board the first thing, won't you, Ellen dear?"

"Say, Ma, you and Ellen are a team." Terry eyed his mother meditatively.

"You take her guff every time. Not a day goes by that she don't pay you dirt, but you keep on trusting her just the same."

"Ah, Terry lad, how can you talk so? Perhaps Ellen has made a few mistakes, but you oughtn't to forget she's your own sister."

"I don't." Terry spoke shortly and rose from his chair. "Come on, Rosie, no use hanging around here any longer."

Rosie hesitated. "I think I'll wait to do the dishes first. Ma's all tired out."

"Indeed, and you'll do no such thing!" Mrs. O'Brien declared. "You're company for today, Rosie, so make the most of it."

"Ellen will do the dishes, won't you, Ellen dear?" Terry spoke facetiously with his mother's intonation.

"Of course Ellen will," Mrs. O'Brien said. "I'm sure she will, for if she's not working tomorrow she'll not be having to save herself."

Rosie, willing to accept this a.s.surance, allowed Terry to draw her away from the kitchen and out to the little front porch. "But you know, Terry, of course she won't."

Terry laughed a little grimly. "Of course not!" He paused a moment in thought. "Say, Rosie, don't it beat all the way she goes along doing just as she pleases? Hardly any one calls her bluff. I can see just how it was in that office today. She put up such an ugly fight that they were glad to sh.e.l.l out an extra five spot that she hadn't begun to earn just to get rid of her. And look at her here at home. She wouldn't hand out a nickel to the rest of us if we were starving. She'd spend it on an ice-cream soda for herself."

Rosie sighed. "I don't mind about us. We can take care of ourselves. But poor old Jarge Riley, Terry. Living right here with us wouldn't you suppose he'd get to know her?"

"Well,"--Terry spoke in a tone somewhat didactic--"you forget one thing, Rosie: Jarge is in love."

"But why is he in love?" Rosie persisted.

Terry shook his head gloomily. "Search me."

CHAPTER XXVII

ROSIE URGES COMMON SENSE

"Why is he in love?"

The question kept repeating itself to Rosie as she sat on the porch steps while day slowly faded and twilight deepened into night. Mrs.

O'Brien and Jamie came out after a time and Rosie talked to them about the country, telling them of all the marvels of farm and roadside. But through it all her mind kept reverting to the problem which had met her so promptly on her return.

"When you know Mis' Riley," she told her mother, "then you understand Jarge from start to finish. She's jolly and kind and she'll do anything in the world for you if she likes you. And, my! how she works! Jarge's father is all right, but all he does is talk. No matter what there is to do, he always wants to stop and talk. In the mornings he just nearly used to drive Mis' Riley and me crazy. I can tell you we were always busy and he ought to have been, too, and he did used to get real tired just talking about all he had to do. Of course Grandpa Riley was awful good to me and Geraldine and I don't like to say anything about him, but I understand now why Jarge has to save so hard and why poor Mis' Riley has to work so hard. And I know one thing: when Jarge does go back to the farm and take hold of things, he and his mother'll make that old farm pay. They're not afraid of hard work, either of them, and they've both got good sense, too.... Say, Dad, what do you think of Ellen the way she treats Jarge?"

"Ellen?" Jamie O'Brien's tilted chair came down with a thud and Jamie cleared his throat to answer. "How would you want her to be treating him?"

"Well, I don't want her to treat him like a dog! Jarge is too good!"

"Don't you be worryin' about Jarge," Jamie advised. "It's just as well for him that Ellen does treat him so." To Rosie this seemed a subject for further discussion, but not to Jamie. He balanced back his chair and relapsed into an abstracted silence from which Rosie's protests were unable to arouse him.

It had been a long and exciting day and Rosie was tired. If she had not felt that George would be expecting to see her when he got in from his run, she would have said good-night early and slipped quietly off to bed. But George would be expecting her. In the morning they had had very few words together and Rosie knew that there were a hundred things about the farm and about his mother that George wished to hear. So she stifled her yawns and waited.

Talk flickered and went out. At last Jamie O'Brien tapped his pipe on the porch rail and, going in, said: "Good-night, Rosie. It's mighty fine to have you back." In a few moments Mrs. O'Brien followed Jamie and Terry followed her.

One by one the street noises grew quiet. Mothers' voices called, "Johnny!" "Katie!" "Jimmie!" and children's voices answered, "All right!

I'm a-comin'!"; doors slammed; lights began to twinkle in bedroom windows. Rosie's little world was preparing for sleep. Every detail of that world was familiar to her as her mother's face. Like her mother's face, heretofore she had taken it for granted. Tonight, coming back after a short absence, she saw it anew with all the vividness of fresh sight and all the understanding of lifelong acquaintance. It was her world and, with a sudden rush of feeling, she knew that it was hers and that she loved it. Now that she was back to it, already her weeks in the country seemed far off and vague.... Had she ever been away?

George came at last. He looked thin and worn and he seated himself quietly with none of his old-time gaiety.

"Well, Rosie," he began, "how does it seem to be back?"