Hallam's eyes sparkled. "Amy, I always said she was the most beautiful woman in the world, in character as well as person." "To us, she certainly was. My plan is this: I will go to Mr. Metcalf and ask him to give me a place in the mill. If those other girls can work, so can I." "Do you know who owns the mills now?" "Yes; our cousin Archibald Wingate." "And you would work for him? You would demean yourself to that? Yet you know how, when he offered us money last week, or to do other things for us, both father and I indignantly declined." "Yes, I know. I, too, was glad we didn't have to take it, though I do not believe he is as bad as we think. We look at him from _this_ side; but if we could from the _other_, he might not seem so hard-hearted. He said he was sorry. He seemed to feel very badly." "Yes, and when he came and asked Cleena to let him see--her, just once more, she gave him a reproof that must have struck home. She told him he was practically the cause of mother's death,--his driving her from Fairacres,--and I shall always feel so, too." "I hope not, dear." "Well, I hate him. I hope I can sometime make him suffer all he has made us." "But, Hal, that is vindictive. To be vindictive is not half as noble as to be just. Mother was just. While it grieved her to leave her home, she fully appreciated how much he must long for it. It was their grandmother's, you know, and he felt he had a right there. I do not blame him half as much as I pity him. He's such a lonely old fellow, it seems to me." "Humph! I wouldn't work for him and take his money. I should feel as if it were tainted." For a moment Amy was staggered by this view of her brother's. Then it dropped into its proper place in the argument, and she went on:-- "It would be pleasanter to work for somebody else. But there _is_ nobody else. I think Mr. Wingate has very little to do with the employees of the mill. It's Mr. Metcalf who pays them, and he's a dear, good friend already. I'm going to see him this afternoon. I asked Gwendolyn to tell him I was coming, but I suppose he thinks it is about selling Balaam. He's ready to take him off your hands if you want to part with him. That seventy-five dollars he paid for Pepita and the saddle and harness was such a blessing. It carried us through; we couldn't have done without it, unless we'd let Mr. Wingate help." "Never! Well, I suppose he'll have to take him. If I can't work, I can give up, as well as you." "No, Hal, I don't want to sell him yet. Wait till the last thing and we can't help it. Do try to think kindly of what I'm doing, dear. Down in my heart I'm pretty proud, too. But you start home. I'll take a bit of lunch and then start out to seek my fortune. Wish me luck, laddie; or, rather, bid me God-speed." She lifted her face for his kiss, and he gave it heartily. It was to the sensitive, proud, undisciplined boy the very hardest moment of his life, save and apart from his bereavement.