It frightened her to think of Stephen. What could you do for a child who _wanted_ to be bad, and told you so in a loud scream? How could you manage a child whom no arguments touched, who went off like a dynamite bomb over everything and nothing; who was capable of doing as he did this afternoon, rushing right at his own mother in a passion, trying to bite and scratch and tear her flesh like a little wild beast? And yet she had never spoiled Stephen because he was the baby of the family. She had always been firm with him just as she had with the others. Every one in her circle agreed that she had never spoiled him. What future could there be for Stephen? If he was like this at five, what would he be at fifteen, with all those slum boys at hand to play with? She couldn’t _always_ keep them away from him. If they could only move to another part of town, the nice part, where the children would have nice playmates! But now she knew they never would. With this last complete failure of poor Lester’s to make good, she touched bottom, knew hopelessness. There never would be anything else for her, never, never! How _could_ Lester take things lying down as he did! When there were all those tragic reasons for his forging ahead? Why _didn’t_ he do as other men did, all other men who amounted to anything, even common laboring men--get on, succeed, provide for his family! It was not lack of intelligence or education. He had always been crazy about books and education. What good did Lester’s intelligence and education do them? It was just that he didn’t care enough about them to _try_! Well, she would never complain. She despised wives who complained of their husbands. She had never said a word against Lester and she never would. Even to-night, at the table, struck down as she had been by that blow, that fatal blow, so casually, so indifferently announced, she had not breathed a word of blame. Not one! But it was bitter! Bitter! She was fit for something better than scrubbing floors all her life. Her dark face in the mirror looked out at her, blazing. She looked as Stephen did when he was being whipped. She looked wicked. She felt wicked. But she did not want to be wicked. She wanted to be a good Christian woman. She wanted to do her duty. She began to pray, fervently, “O God, help me bear my burdens! God, make me strong to do my duty! God, take out the wild, sinful anger from my heart and give me patience to do what I must do! O God, help me to be a good mother!”