They had had a "fierce" time since Ed--Ed was the husband and
father--had lost his job a year ago. He had not been able to get
anything permanent since. Ed had been there just a minute ago, she
said--and indeed the odour of tobacco was still strong on the close
air--but he had been having a good deal of stomach trouble of late, and
the children made him nervous, and he had gone out for a walk. Poor May,
smiling gallantly over the difficulties of her life, drew her firstborn
to her knees, brushed back the child's silky, pale hair with bony,
trembling fingers, and prophesied that things would be easier when
mamma's girlies got to work: Evelyn was going to be a dressmaker, and
Marguerite an actress.
"She can say a piece out of the Third Reader real cute--the children
next door taught her," said May, but Marguerite would not be exploited;
she dug her blonde head into her mother's shoulder in a panic of
shyness; and shortly afterward the Pages went away. Uncle George gave
each child a dime, Julia kissed her little cousins good-bye, and Emeline
felt a sick spasm of pity and shame as May bade the children thank them,
and thanked them herself.
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