Under the Country Sky | Page 2

found herself coming dangerously near it--temporarily, at least.
They were dears, of course, but they were so content with themselves
and so pitiful of her. Not, of course, that they meant to let her see this,
but it showed in spite of them. They wanted to know what she did with
herself, whether there were any young people, and any good times
going on--Georgiana led them to the window, just at this point, and
pointed out to them a vigorous young man striding by in ulster and soft
hat, who looked up and waved as he passed, showing one of those fine
and manly young faces, glowing with health and hopefulness, which
always challenge interest from girlhood.
"Oh, have you many like that?" Celia had asked, and when Georgiana
had owned that James Stuart was the only one precisely "like that," Dot
had inquired if Mr. Stuart belonged to Georgiana, and, being answered
in the negative, shook her head and sighed: "One swallow may make a
summer, Jan, but I doubt it!"
Theodora Crossman, the settlement worker, inquired particularly

whether Georgiana were doing anything worth while, using that
pregnant modern phrase which has been decidedly overworked, yet
which hardly can be spared from the present-day vocabulary.
"Worth while!" cried Georgiana, flashing into flame in an instant in the
way they knew so well. "Worth while--yes! You haven't seen my father,
have you, ever? It's a pity this happens to be one of his bad,
spine-achey days, for he'd be a good and sufficient answer to that
question. Father Davy is one of the Lord's own saints on earth, and he
possesses a magnificent sense of humour, which not all saints do, you
know. To love him is a liberal education, and to take care of him is
better 'worth while' than to have any number of fingers in other people's
pies."
"Of course, dear," Theo had answered soothingly. "We know there's
nothing in the world so well worth while as looking after one's father
and mother. Your mother died long ago, didn't she, dear? And your
father would be dreadfully lonely without you. At the same time, it
doesn't seem as if he could absorb all your energies. You remember the
splendid things Professor Nichols used to say about the duty of the
college girl, after college, particularly in a small town? I suppose you
have no foreigners here, but I thought perhaps you might find quite a
wonderful field for your endeavour in stimulating the women of the
place into clubs for study and work. It's----"
A curious exclamation from her hostess caused Miss Crossman to
pause. In fact, they all stared wonderingly at Georgiana. She stood
upon the hearthrug, her colour, usually ready to glow in her dusky face,
now receding suggestively, her dark eyes sparkling dangerously. "The
only trouble with that sort of thing," she answered with suspicious
quietness, "or rather the two troubles with it are these: In the first place,
the women have pretty nearly a club apiece already, which suits them
much better than anything I could 'stimulate' them to; and, in the
second place, I have 'quite a wonderful field for my endeavour,' as you
call it, Theo--did you crib that phrase?--in the upper regions of my own
home. I--in fact, I may be said to belong to the I. W. W.; I'm one of the
industrial workers of the world!"

"Jan, you haven't gone into anything crazy----" Dot was beginning,
when Georgiana, obeying an impulse, walked away from her hearthrug
toward the door, beckoning her guests to follow.
"Come on," she invited. "Since you have so poor an opinion of the
possibilities for serious labour in a world of woe offered by my
residence in a small country village, you may come and see for
yourselves."
They came after her, with a rustle and flutter of frocks and a patter of
smartly shod feet, up the old spindle-railed staircase, through a chilly
and unfurnished upper hall, and up a still chillier narrow second
staircase, into an attic region which could hardly be properly
characterized as chilly, for the reason that the atmosphere there was
frankly freezing.
As near as possible to the gable window stood a monster structure the
nature of which the beholders did not instantly recognize. Phyllis was
the first to cry out: "A loom! It must be a very old one, too. Oh, how
fascinating! What do you make, Jan--fabrics?"
"Rugs," explained Georgiana, pulling at a pile upon the floor. "Such
rugs as these. Good looking? Yes, dear classmates?"
"Stunning!" cried Madge Sylvester, with a smothered shiver at the
penetrating cold of the place.
"Simply wonderful!" "Too clever for anything!" and, "Oh, Jan, do you
make them to sell?" "Can I buy this one?" "I'm wild over this dull blue
and