Just at this hour the classes were filing into the halls and going to new work. If she were back there, she would be entering her psychology class, and looking at the blackboard for the announcement of the day’s work assigned to each member of the class. Instead of that here she was in the midst of an unending task, hopeless and weary and frightfully discouraged. A tear of self-pity began to steal out, and she might have been weeping in a minute more if she had not been suddenly arrested in her thoughts by sounds overhead, far away and slight, but nevertheless unmistakable. She wiped her eyes, and went out into the hall, softly listening. Yes, undoubtedly Carey had waked up at last. She could hear the bedsprings rattle, and hear his feet moving lightly on the bare floor, as if he might be sitting up with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. Her instinct told her that he would not be very happy when he awoke. She could fancy how disgusted he must be with himself; for Carey had a conscience, and he could not but know that what he was doing was wrong. She could remember how good and helpful a boy he used to be, always thoughtful for his mother. It did not seem possible that he had completely changed. She could hear him moving slowly about now, a few steps and stopping a long time. Perhaps he had found the poetry on the bureau, although she reflected that it was altogether likely that Harry in his wrath might have cast it under the bed or anywhere it happened. Well, she would better be getting the griddle hot. She hurried into the kitchen, and pulled the griddle forward over the fire, opened the draughts, and began to get the table in order for an early lunch. She glanced at the clock. It was half past eleven. She would have everything ready the minute he came down. She could still hear him stirring around. He had come down to the bathroom, and the sound of his razor-strop whirred faintly. Well, that was a good sign. He was going to fix up a little before coming down. She put the last touches to her table, set the plates to warm, put on the syrup, and made the coffee. Then she took a broom, and went back to the front room to wait until he came down. Oh, that front room! It seemed more dreary than ever as she attempted to make a little path in the wilderness. She was trying to drag a big packing-box out into the hall when Carey finally came down, looking wholly a gentleman except for a deep scowl on his brow. He came at once to her assistance, somewhat gruffly, it must be owned, but quite efficiently. “What on earth are you trying to do, Nell?” he asked. “Don’t you know that’s too heavy for a girl to move? I told you I’d help. Why didn’t you wait for me?” Cornelia, feeling a strange excitement upon her, looked up brightly, and tried to ignore the fact that he ought to have come down several hours before.