“Oh, Pollie,” she went on presently, “the terrible part of your leaving was that I felt Charlie must not know about it. I do believe he would not have gone for this voyage if he had not firmly believed that you and I could go on happily and safely while he was away. I hated to keep the secret, Pollie, but I had to do it, if Charlie was to have what seemed to be such a chance for his life. And now, after all——” she could say no more. “And I daresay the master thought pretty hardly of me when he did hear,” said Pollie woefully. “He never heard,” answered Lucy. “I meant to tell him so soon as I got comfortably settled down with somebody else. But that day never came while he was in reach of letters. Once I thought all was so right that I began my letter, telling the whole story, but before it was finished there was disappointment, and that letter never went. To Charlie it must always seem as if Pollie is taking care of Hugh and me.” “I only wish it could be true!” cried Pollie. “I only wish I could afford to come over twice a week and help that nice person who tells me she is going to look after your house. I could bring the baby with me, for he is as good as gold.” Lucy looked up; a bright thought struck her. “The question is, Pollie,” she said, “could you afford the time? A married woman owes all her time to her husband’s home, except under peculiar circumstances or at a pinch. And I’m sure it is wisest and best so, Pollie, for if a wife’s earnings are not simply an ‘extra,’ evoked to meet some special visitation of God, they don’t add to the household prosperity and comfort. I’m sure I’ve seen enough this year to prove that.” “Ay, I know it’s true, ma’am,” said Pollie, “but what you say is just our case. Husband had an accident last spring and was out of work three months, and on only half work for a while after, and what with him bringing in nothing, and wanting dainty food, and with a doctor’s bill to pay, we got into debt, and before we left the place we had to pay off, and that meant ‘putting away’ a lot of our things. We’re only in one room now, ma’am, and that does not suit the ways of either of us, and that room is bare enough and does not take long to keep clean. And while I might be helping to get things right again, there I sit with a heavy heart and empty hands. That’s when women take to mischief—to gossiping and drinking. Tom’s out from seven in the morning till six at night. But, of course, I can’t do anything that would take me away from my baby. I wouldn’t do that, and Tom wouldn’t hear of it, not while we have a crust of bread to eat.”