The Shoulders of Atlas

out there and stood before them, holding her fringed parasol in such a way that it made a concave frame for her stern, elderly face and thin shoulders.

vable that this elderly country woman could speak in such wise to the ci

her to answer, with a sort of pretty, childish petulance, defiant, yet yielding. "I am not in the least

e about them. Her face was as clear as a cameo. She was dressed in mourning for her aunt, but her black robe was thin and the fine cu

this constant watchfulness, irritating, but she found it sweet. She could scarcely remember her mother, but the memory had always been as one of lost love. Now she seemed to have found it again. She fairly coquetted with this older woman who loved her, and whom she loved, with that charming coquettishness som

and her trunk packed, when a telegram arrived rather late at night. Rose had gone to bed when Sylvia brought it up to her room. "Don

" she said,

nk anything has happened until you rea

what

ed Sylvia, solemnly

ever sending telegrams," she said. "Very likely it is

and read the telegram. Rose's face changed expression. She re

. "Of course you have lived with those people so many years you have learned to thi

fashion. "Nothing has happened," she said-"a

t w

g to sail for Genoa to-morrow, and that pu

face. "Well, you ain't left stranded,

e off in this way without giving me a moment's notice," she said, in rather an injured fashion, "after I have lived with them so long. I never thought they really cared much about me. Mrs. Wilton and Miss

"I know what has happened," she said, with a no

ha

oney. They have been waiting for it ever since I have been with them. Their

he ver

to suit myself. Mrs. Wilton and Miss Pamela were always nice to me, but sometimes-well, sometimes I felt so outside them that I was awfully lonesome. And Mrs. Wilton always did just what you knew she would, and so did Miss Pamela, and it was a little like living with machines that were wound up to do the right thing by you, but didn't do it of their own accord. Now they have run down, just like machines. I kn

upon her. "If you feel that you

e-trimmed sleeves of her night-gown fell away to the shoulder, and Sylvia let them close

rs again, "and they have treated that poor child mean. They have never told her a word about it until now. She

h us as long as she is

ess she can,

days. He had glimpses of the maternal depths of his wife's heart, which, while no

the girl in her turn seemed to reciprocate. Although the life in East Westland was utterly at variance with the life she had known, she settled down in it, of

advertise or write some of my friends. Betty Morrison may know of some one, or Sally Maclean. Betty and Sally always see

at afternoon. Sylvia looked pathetically and wistfully at

: to attend to my wardrobe and assist me in dressing, to b

egard her with that w

tockings, and button up your dresses, and brush y

knees beside her. "You dear," she said,

nd ironing done, I've got time on my hands. I like to sew braid on and darn stockings, and

t I have always had a maid," Rose persisted, in a somewhat puzzled way. Rose could hardly conceive of continued existence without a maid. She had managed very well for a few d

aid, write your friends, and I will hav

at her. "Another leaf in the d

e's room for more than f

ld not eat at th

t in the kitchen-cold victu

, she would not; at least, no maid I

Would she wait till after we were

e she would lik

to eat?" demanded

azed a

e table in here, or in

e there was a servants' dining-room at Mrs. Wilton's, and th

Where is she going to eat?" ask

w, and Sally must be about to sail for Paris to buy her trousseau. She is going to marry Dicky van Snyde in the autumn (whatever she sees in him)! So I dou

" said she, admiringly, and with an odd tone of resentment, as if she were indignant at the mere suggestio

nt in chiding her for her mistakes and in setting them right herself. She would not have been nearly as well pleased had Rose been handy about the house. One e

n ails you, Sylv

ater stood in drops. "Just see this plate that

beat the Dutch

e had never sewed much, but she had an inventive genius in

nk silk which she had found among Abrahama's possessions, Ro

t made with some black lace?" asked Sylvia, wist

chest of finery. Rose took out an old barege of an ashes-of-roses color. She l

you use the pink for a petticoat," said she, "and

a petticoat?"

t you understand? Then you will harmonize with your dress. Your hair is gray, and there is pink in your cheeks. You will be lo

ime when she walked from church with Lucinda Hart and found Rose and Horace sitting in the grove. After Rose had replied to Sylvia's advice

f the oaks, a charming nocturne of elderly womanhood. The faint pink on her cheeks seemed enhanced by the pink seen dimly through th

looking-glass." But she smiled the smile of a pretty woman conscious of her own prettiness. Then all three laughed, although Horace but a momen

ectly

look

shadow of

tle white box in Rose's lap

me from church and slipped it into my hand, and I hardly know her at all. I do think it is too dear of her for anything. She is such a lovely girl,

t altogether too much of it," said Horace, with a stra

y had ever told me?" said Rose. "Of course I am going to eat this candy that dear Lucy m

to Boston to-morrow,"

l, and here you are proposing to send for some for me," she said, "when I have this nice home-made

e knew what he was about he had dashed it from her hand, and in the tumult the whole box of candy was scat

arded him with amazement

ltogether too much upon yourself. You have spoiled my candy, and you forget th

made candy wouldn't hurt her," she sai

ked away without another word, and entered the house

such a thing f

knows," sa

alarmed. "You don't suppose he's taken

Sylvia. "Men do ac

trampled candy. "Why, he ground his heel into it! What right had he t

queer. Even Mr. Whitma

th him so long. Did he ever make you drop a nice box of candy

s he ever did; but

ing beside Sylvia towards the house. "Not at all

h quick alarm. "The man

w if there was a hotel

ht-" beg

know what that meant-that there was no use in his asking me to marry him again, because I n

u don't

know what I mean, but I don't know what men mean making me drop candy I have had given me

a little while before dinne

please, think I am crying because I feel badly. It

om and found Henry Whitman sitting there with the Sunday paper. She sat down opposite and

id she, interroga

enderness which he always felt for this girl, whose environment h

tell another man's reasons for doing

rha

did a queer thing, better than a man could," s

t face staring at her over a vi

woman who had given it to her was lovely, and you had knocked a piece of candy from Aunt Sylvia's mouth just as she was going to taste

ad given Sylvia a box of candy she had made, and I knocked a piece from her hand just as she was going to taste it, and mad

es

a door shut up-stairs. "I sh

se you had

uldn't

ders. "You are horrid,

the room by another door from that which Horace entered. Horace sat down in the chair which Rose had just vaca

a mess as never man was

odded g

iving mortal," Horace said, in a whi

from the table she made an announcement. "I am going to run over and see Lucy Ayres," she said.

been reading about it in the Sunday paper," said Henry. Sylvia unexpectedly proved his ally. Rose ha

en you have so little appetite for good,

r there. It is a lovely afternoon. I have nothing I w

id, plainly, to the other man, "For God's

od that Henry would help him. "Don't let her go over there this afterno

like to know?"

her go," re

could put upon such a request immediately occurred to her. She said to herself, "Hm!

ose strength the childless woman had never dreamed. There was also another reason, which she would not admit even to herself. Had Rose been, indeed, her daughter, and she had possessed her from the cradle to womanhood, she would probably

to thwart them. "I don't see why she shouldn't go," she said. "It is a lovely afternoon. The walk will do

ed like a hypocrite as he spoke, but the dis

get you to go to meeting the last ten years, and now all of a sudden you turn around and think it's wicked for a young girl

e to another from under her black h

have a good time, but you had better be home by five o'clock. There is a praise mee

en looked at each other. Horace was ashy pale. Henry's face

e," said Horace, with a look towards t

red out of the house into the grove. But even there not much was said. Both smoked in si

an't see my way to telling any mortal what little I do know that leads me to fear that it is something, although I would

ut my wife lately," sai

ha

, young man, when women talk, as women are intended by an overruling Providence to tal

a blessed thing sufficiently straight to know whether it is big enough to bother about

nough," said Henry. "I ain't i