the Street, Harriet "sewed"--and sewed well.

She had taken Anna into business with her, but the burden of the
partnership had always been on Harriet. To give her credit, she had not
complained. She was past forty by that time, and her youth had slipped
by in that back room with its dingy wallpaper covered with paper
patterns.

On the day after the arrival of the roomer, Harriet Kennedy came down to
breakfast a little late. Katie, the general housework girl, had tied
a small white apron over her generous gingham one, and was serving
breakfast. From the kitchen came the dump of an iron, and cheerful
singing. Sidney was ironing napkins. Mrs. Page, who had taken advantage
of Harriet's tardiness to read the obituary column in the morning paper,
dropped it.

But Harriet did not sit down. It was her custom to jerk her chair out
and drop into it, as if she grudged every hour spent on food. Sidney,
not hearing the jerk, paused with her iron in air.

"Sidney."

"Yes, Aunt Harriet."

"Will you come in, please?"

Katie took the iron from her.

"You go. She's all dressed up, and she doesn't want any coffee."

So Sidney went in. It was to her that Harriet made her speech:--

"Sidney, when your father died, I promised to look after both you and
your mother until you were able to take care of yourself. That was five
years ago. Of course, even before that I had helped to support you."

"If you would only have your coffee, Harriet!"

Mrs. Page sat with her hand on the handle of the old silver-plated
coffee-pot. Harriet ignored her.

"You are a young woman now. You have health and energy, and you have
youth, which I haven't. I'm past forty. In the next twenty years, at the
outside, I've got not only to support myself, but to save something to
keep me after that, if I live. I'll probably live to be ninety. I don't
want to live forever, but I've always played in hard luck."

Sidney returned her gaze steadily.

"I see. Well, Aunt Harriet, you're quite right. You've been a saint to
us, but if you want to go away--"

"Harriet!" wailed Mrs. Page, "you're not thinking--"

"Please, mother."

Harriet's eyes softened as she looked at the girl

"We can manage," said Sidney quietly. "We'll miss you, but it's time we
learned to depend on ourselves."

After that, in a torrent, came Harriet's declaration of independence.
And, mixed in with its pathetic jumble of recriminations, hostility to
her sister's dead husband, and resen