"Now, mommer, tell me! How do you do it? Where do you start?" "Angie, I can’t let you. You’re tired to death, child. I’m more used to it." But Angelica would not listen to her. She went out, resolutely, with the pail and the cloth and the scrubbing-brush, to do for her mother for one day what her mother had done for her for nineteen years. It was not Angelica’s disposition to enjoy martyrdom. She never felt sorry for herself; she didn’t now. It was work which must be done, and she was anxious to do it properly. She was in that state of intense fatigue when one craves more and more physical activity. She scrubbed all the stone stairs, mopped the corridor, went on working and working and thinking and thinking. She came down-stairs at one o’clock and went out to buy something for lunch. "What is there to do this afternoon?" she asked. "Nothing," said Mrs. Kennedy. "I haven’t got half the work to do in this place that I had in the old one--only three washings." "I know. Well, mommer, I suppose we’ll have to get some more money from somewhere. I’ll go out and look for a job, I guess." She found one without much trouble. Her sort of job--unskilled, transitory, ill-paid--was plentiful. "I’m starting in to-morrow morning," she told her mother, when she came home. "Now, if there’s any ink, I guess I’ll write to Eddie." "Why?" asked her mother. "Well, it seems he don’t know anything about--what happened, and I guess we’ll be married after all." "You mean to say you’re still set on that, Angie?" cried her mother. "It’s wicked--downright _wicked_--to deceive a good man so." "I don’t think so," Angelica replied. "What I did was bad enough, but I don’t think it’s wicked not to tell about it. If you’d been in prison you wouldn’t go around telling every one about it, would you?" "That isn’t the same at all, Angie. I don’t want you to tell ‘every one’; only the man you’re going to marry." "He wouldn’t be the man I’m going to marry very long, if I tell him. He’d never speak to me again. I know Eddie! And he’s too good to lose," she added. "Of course, something may go wrong, but I don’t think so. I think I’ve got him!" So she wrote: DEAR EDDIE: I guess you think it is very queer not hearing from me for nearly a year. I did not think I would write to you, because when I thought it over I thought I better not marry you. I thought maybe we could not get on, on account of being so different, but I have changed my mind, and now I will if you still want. Let me know if you feel the same about it, and then I will write again and tell you all about how I am getting along. I have not got any letters from you, because we moved away from the old place, and I was sick a long time, and did not go up there to see if there were any letters, and then when I got well and did go the woman there was very cranky and said she gave them all back to the postman because I did not leave any address behind.