The Portion of Labor | Page 4

fairly trembled with anger when she saw the
girl set out with her son in the morning. She would have considered it
much more according to the eternal fitness of things had her son
Andrew been attending a queen whom he would have dropped at her
palace on the way. She writhed inwardly whenever little Ellen spoke of
her aunt Eva, and would have forbidden her to do so had she dared.
"To think of that child associating with a shop-girl!" she said to Mrs.
Pointdexter. Mrs. Pointdexter was her particular friend, whom she
regarded with loving tolerance of superiority, though she had been the
daughter of a former clergyman of the town, and had wedded another,
and might presumably have been accounted herself of a somewhat
higher estate. The gentle and dependent clergyman's widow, when she
came back to her native city after the death of her husband, found
herself all at once in a pleasant little valley of humiliation at the feet of
her old friend, and was contented to abide there. "Perhaps your son's
sister-in-law will marry and go away," she said, consolingly, to Mrs.
Zelotes, who indeed lived in that hope. But Eva remained at her sister's,
and, though she had admirers in plenty, did not marry, and the
dissension grew.
It was an odd thing that, however the sisters quarrelled, the minute
Andrew tried to take sides with his wife and assail Eva in his turn,
Fanny turned and defended her. "I am not going to desert all the sister I
have got in the world," she said. "If you want me to leave, say so, and I
will go, but I shall never turn Eva out of doors. I would rather go with
her and work in the shop." Then the next moment the wrangle would
recommence, and the harsh trebles of wrath would swell high. Andrew
could not appreciate this savageness of race loyalty in the face of anger
and dissension, and his brain reeled with the apparent inconsistency of

the thing.
"Sometimes I think they are both crazy," he used to tell his mother,
who sympathized with him after a covertly triumphant fashion. She
never said, "I told you so," but the thought was evident on her face, and
her son saw it there.
However, he said not a word against his wife, except by implication.
Though she and her sister were making his home unbearable, he still
loved her, and, even if he did not, he had something of his mother's
pride.
However, at last, when Ellen was almost eight years old, matters came
suddenly to a climax one evening in November. The two sisters were
having a fiercer dispute than usual. Eva was taking her sister to task for
cutting over a dress of hers for Ellen, Fanny claiming that she had
given her permission to do so, and Eva denying it. The child sat
listening in her little chair with a look of dawning intelligence of wrath
and wicked temper in her face, because she was herself in a manner the
cause of the dissension. Suddenly Andrew Brewster, with a fiery
outburst of inconsequent masculine wrath with the whole situation,
essayed to cut the Gordian knot. He grabbed the little dress of bright
woollen stuff, which lay partly made upon the table, and crammed it
into the stove, and a reek of burning wool filled the room. Then both
women turned upon him with a combination of anger to which his
wrath was wildfire.
Andrew caught up little Ellen, who was beginning to look scared,
wrapped the first thing he could seize around her, and fairly fled across
the yard to his mother's. Then he sat down and wept like a boy, and his
pride left him at last. "Oh, mother," he sobbed, "if it were not for the
child, I would go away, for my home is a hell!"
Mrs. Zelotes stood clasping little Ellen, who clung to her, trembling.
"Well, come over here with me," she said, "you and Ellen."
"Live here in the next house!" said Andrew. "Do you suppose Fanny
would have the child living under her very eyes in the next house? No,

there is no way out of the misery--no way; but if it was not for the child,
I would go!"
Andrew burst out in such wild sobs that his mother released Ellen and
ran to him; and the child, trembling and crying with a curious softness,
as of fear at being heard, ran out of the house and back to her home.
"Oh, mother," she cried, breaking in upon the dialogue of anger which
was still going on there with her little tremulous flute--"oh, mother,
father is crying!"
"I don't care," answered her mother, fiercely, her temper causing her to
lose sight of