Mary Minds Her Business | Page 8

she opened the study door.

Her father was sitting at his desk.
At the sound of the opening door he turned and stared at the apparition
which confronted him. Mary had closed the door and stood with her
back to it, screwing up her courage for the last stage of her journey.
And in truth it must have taken courage, for there was something in old
Josiah's forbidding brow and solitary mien which would have chilled
the purpose of any child. It may have been this which suddenly brought
the tears to Mary's eyes, or it may have been that her womanly little
breast guessed the loneliness in her father's heart. Whatever it was, she
unsteadily crossed the room, her sight blurred but her plan as steadfast
as ever, and a moment later she was climbing on Josiah's knee, her
arms tight around his neck, sobbing as though it would shake her little
frame to pieces.
What passed between those two, partly in speech but chiefly in silence
with their wet cheeks pressed together, I need not tell you; but when
Ma'm Maynard came searching for her charge and stood quite
open-mouthed in the doorway, Josiah waved her away, his finger on his
lip, and later he carried Mary upstairs himself--and went back to his
study without a word, though blowing his nose in a key which wasn't
without significance.
And nearly every night after that, when dinner was over, Mary made a
visit to old Josiah's study downstairs; and one Saturday morning when
he was leaving for the factory, he heard the front door open and shut
behind him and there stood Mary, her little straw bonnet held under her
chin with an elastic. In the most matter of fact way she slipped her
fingers into his hand. He hesitated, but woman-like she pulled him on.
The next minute they were walking down the drive together.
As they passed the end of the house, he remembered the words which
he had once used to his sisters, "After seven generations you simply
can't keep them away. It's bred in the bone."
A thrill ran over him as he looked at the little figure by his side.

"If she had only been a boy!" he breathed.
At the end of the drive he stopped.
"You must go back now, dear."
"No," said Mary and tried to pull him on.
For as long as it might take you to count five, Josiah stood there
irresolute, Mary's fingers pulling him one way and the memory of poor
Martha's fate pulling him the other.
"And yet," he thought, "she's bound to see it sometime. Perhaps better
now--before she understands--than later--"
He lifted her and sat her on his arm.
"Now, listen, little woman," he said as they gravely regarded each other.
"This is important. If I take you this morning, will you promise to be a
good girl, and sit in the office, and not go wandering off by yourself?
Will you promise me that?"
This, too, may have been heredity, going back as far as Eve: Still
gravely regarding him she nodded her head in silence and promised
him with a kiss. He set her down, her hand automatically slipping into
his palm again, and together they walked to the factory.
The road made a sharp descent to the interval by the side of the river,
almost affording a bird's-eye view of the buildings below--lines of
workshops of an incredible length, their ventilators like the helmets of
an army of giants.
A freight train was disappearing into one of the warehouses. Long lines
of trucks stood on the sidings outside. Wisps of steam arose in every
direction, curious, palpitating.
From up the river the roar of the falls could just be heard while from
the open windows of the factory came that humming note of industry
which, more than anything else, is like the sound which is sometimes

made by a hive of bees, immediately before a swarm.
It was a scene which always gave Josiah a well-nigh oppressive feeling
of pride and punishment--pride that all this was his, that he was one of
those Spencers who had risen so high above the common run of
man--punishment that he had betrayed the trust which had been handed
down to him, that he had broken the long line of fathers and sons which
had sent the Spencer reputation, with steadily increasing fame, to the
corners of the earth. As he walked down the hall that Saturday morning,
his sombre eyes missing no detail, he felt Mary's fingers tighten around
his hand and, glancing down at her, he saw that her attention, too, was
engrossed by the scene below, her eyes large and bright as children's
are when they listen to a fairy tale.
Arrived at the office,