t the same time
thrusting his hand into his trousers pocket, where he carried his money
loose in the same large way that he lived life in general. He put a
quarter in the youngster's hand and held him in his arms a moment,
soothing his sobs. "Now run along and get some candy, and don't forget
to give some to your brothers and sisters. Be sure and get the kind that
lasts longest."

His sister lifted a flushed face from the wash-tub and looked at him.

"A nickel'd ha' ben enough," she said. "It's just like you, no idea of
the value of money. The child'll eat himself sick."

"That's all right, sis," he answered jovially. "My money'll take care of
itself. If you weren't so busy, I'd kiss you good morning."

He wanted to be affectionate to this sister, who was good, and who, in
her way, he knew, loved him. But, somehow, she grew less herself as the
years went by, and more and more baffling. It was the hard work, the
many children, and the nagging of her husband, he decided, that had
changed her. It came to him, in a flash of fancy, that her nature seemed
taking on the attributes of stale vegetables, smelly soapsuds, and of the
greasy dimes, nickels, and quarters she took in over the counter of the
store.

"Go along an' get your breakfast," she said roughly, though secretly
pleased. Of all her wandering brood of brothers he had always been her
favorite. "I declare I _will_ kiss you," she said, with a sudden stir at
her heart.

With thumb and forefinger she swept the dripping suds first from one arm
and then from the other. He put his arms round her massive waist and
kissed her wet steamy lips. The tears welled into her eyes--not so much
from strength of feeling as from the weakness of chronic overwork. She
shoved him away from her, but not before he caught a glimpse of her moist
eyes.

"You'll find breakfast in the oven," she said hurriedly. "Jim ought to
be up now. I had to get up early for the washing. Now get along with
you and get out of the house early. It won't be nice to-day, what of Tom
quittin' an' nobody but Bernard to drive the wagon."

Martin went into the kitchen with a sinking heart, the image of her red
face and slatternly form eating its way like acid into his brain. She
might love him if she only had some time, he concluded. But she was
worked to death. Bernard Higginbotham was a brute to work her so hard.
But he could not help but feel, on the other hand, that there had not
bee