“For two hours I kept those men busy; Elsie, with grave eyes and sealed lips, followed us about. I tried to forget the stiff neck, and the eye that did not look honest, and had forgotten both, when there was a heavy rap on the open dining-room door. “There stood the young man from the store. “I had forgotten that I did not like those two busy men, who never spoke unless spoken to, still I was glad enough to cry when I saw this familiar and friendly face. “I had known him so long ago I could tell him anything. “‘H’m. Somebody to help you,’ he said, stepping in, pad and pencil in hand, for an order. “The men were in the back parlor; one was unpacking a box of books, the other was sweeping. “Yes,” I replied confidently, “I needed help and I called them in. I don’t believe—” my voice sinking to a whisper, “that they are tramps, do you?” “Oh, no. They are hatters. They have been about here two or three years; the factory is closed. The worst thing about them is drink. They will drink up all you give them. Still, it was hardly a right thing for you to do.” “Elsie’s arm was linked in mine, her big eyes fixed on the young man’s face. “‘A thing is always right—after it is done,’ I said desperately. “‘Whew! you are a wise one,’ he said quizzically. ‘I’ve brought kerosene—have you lamps for to-night? Oh, yes, I see you have. Sugar, bread coffee, tea, what will you have?’ “I gave the order; he wrote it, then lingered. “‘They are about done for to-night, I suppose.’ “‘Yes, I shall send them away.’ “He drove away, and I was left with my hatters. “‘You have worked two hours,’ I said; ‘what do I owe you?’ “The man with one eye looked at the man with a stiff neck. “‘Fifty cents, eh, Jim?’ “‘That’s about it,’ said Jim. “I did not bring my pocket-book down stairs, there were two bills in it; I handed each a twenty-five-cent piece with the most reassuring and disarming air (one air was for myself, the other for them), and thanked them, hoping they would soon have work at their trade. “They said ‘thank you’ and ‘good-night,’ and Elsie and I were left alone. “‘Aren’t you hungry?’ asked Elsie, ‘It is late and dark.’ “‘So it is: we will have supper in the kitchen—and I will fill a lamp to burn all night.’ “That supper was not quite as much fun as I thought it would be; Elsie munched a sandwich and wished she were home; out the window the fire-flies were glistening in the tall grass; the gravestones loomed up very white and tall and stiff. “‘We’ll go to bed early,’ I said cheerily, ‘and be up early in the morning to put everything in order. Aunt Bessie will be sure to be here early.’ “Elsie followed me up stairs still munching a sandwich. She, too, had learned what it was to be ‘brave.’ “The hatters had put up a bedstead and laid a mattress on it; the bed clothing lay in a pile on the bare floor. “I made the bed while Elsie finished her sandwich. “‘May I brush out your hair and braid it?’ asked Elsie.