The Fortunes of the Farrells | Page 5

this came a few minutes' silence, while the two needles were woven diligently to and fro; then--
"Mollie!" said Ruth suddenly, "I've come to a decision. I've been thinking it over for ages, so don't imagine it's a whim, or that I don't mean what I say. It's time that one of us turned out and earned some money on our own account, and, as I'm the eldest, I'm the one to go. Business gets worse and worse, and expenses increase, and must go on increasing, as the children grow up. Trix will be sixteen in summer; in less than two years she will leave school, and three grown-up daughters are not needed in any house when the mother is well and strong. I once thought of waiting until then; but I am twenty-two now, and, if I am to do any good, there is no time to waste. You could get along without me even now."
The half-darned sock fell on Mollie's knee, and for once the sunny face looked thoroughly shocked and startled.
"I couldn't--I couldn't! None of us could! What would happen if everything depended on me? You remind me, and keep me up to the mark, and help me out of scrapes. I should be at my wit's end without you. Mother consults you about everything, and the girls obey you, and the boys pay more attention to you than they do to anyone else. Ruth, everybody needs you?"
"They love you best," Ruth said quietly. And the dark brows wrinkled in wistful fashion.
It was the truth that she was speaking, no empty striving for compliments; but why was it the truth? She worked hard; Mollie idled. She was conscientious, self-sacrificing, and methodical; Mollie knew not the meaning of method, and was frankly selfish on occasions. She worried herself ill about ways and means, and kept sedulously within the bounds of her small allowance; Mollie took no heed for the morrow, and was in a chronic condition of penury or debt.
Despite these striking contrasts, the fact remained, however, that if any member of the household were ill, or had a secret to confide, or a favour to request, they betook themselves to the heedless Mollie, rather than to herself. Dearly as she loved her sister, Ruth felt a little rankling of soreness mingling with her mystification. She did not yet realise the magic power which cheerfulness wields in this world, or the charm of a sunny face and a ready rippling laugh. Hearts turn to the sun as instinctively as plants, and forgive much for the sake of the warmth and glow.
"They love you best," said Ruth, and honest Mollie did not contradict, but stretched out her hand, and laid it caressingly on her sister's arm.
"But I love you, and I can't do without you, Ruth! I couldn't live alone, for you and I belong to each other. The others are dears in their way; but they are only `steps,' and we two seem so close together. Imagine Attica without you! Imagine going to bed alone, with no one to talk to about the events of the day! What does the horrid old money matter? We always have been poor, and we always shall be. As long as I can remember mother has been in despair about the bills; but we wriggle through somehow, and we shall go on wriggling. It's horrid of you to talk of going away! Think of me!"
"That's selfish, Mollie. You are the last person I ought to think of just now. Mother comes first, and the poor old pater, and all those children. It comes to this, that I can't stand the present state of affairs any longer. I feel ashamed of taking even the pittance we have; and I'm tired of the pittance, too, and want to make money for myself, and not have to think a dozen times over before spending a penny!"
Mollie laughed--a pert, derisive little laugh.
"Sounds well, my dear; but, if it comes to that, what can you do? You can't teach, for you are not accomplished enough for advanced pupils, nor patient enough for children. Do you remember trying to teach Drummond to read, and rapping his poor little knuckles till they were blue? Besides, talking of pittances, you'd get less than nothing if you did try it. I don't see what you could do to earn a living."
"I could be a hospital nurse!"
"Perhaps you might--a bad one--for you don't like nursing, and would only do it for the sake of the pay. I should have no respect for you if you did that, Ruth. It would be too hard on the unfortunate patients?"
"I could be a companion--"
"People who want companions are old, or gouty, or mad; invariably disagreeable, or why have they to advertise for a friend? I think