dashing into the
house, banging the broom into a corner, coming out again like a breeze,
and slamming the door behind her. "You can leave the boy here and
welcome; I'll take good care of him, and if you don't send me twenty
dollars a month for his food and clothes, I'll turn him outdoors. The
more responsibility other folks rid you of, the more you'll let 'em, and
I won't take a feather's weight off you for fear you'll sink into
everlasting perdition."

"I didn't expect any sympathy from you," said John, drearily, pulling
himself up from the steps and leaning against the honeysuckle trellis.
"Susanna's just the same. Women are all as hard as the nether
millstone. They're hard if they're angels, and hard if they're devils;
it doesn't make much difference."

"I guess you've found a few soft ones, if report says true," returned
Louisa, bluntly. "You'd better go and get some of their sympathy, the
kind you can buy and pay for. The way you've ruined your life turns me
fairly sick. You had a good father and mother, good education and
advantages, enough money to start you in business, the best of wives,
and two children any man could be proud of, one of 'em especially.
You've thrown 'em all away, and what for? Horses and cards and gay
company, late suppers, with wine, and for aught I know, whiskey,--you
the son of a man who didn't know the taste of ginger beer! You've spent
your days and nights with a pack of carousing men and women that would
take your last cent and not leave you enough for honest burial."

"It's a pity we didn't make a traveling preacher of you!" exclaimed
John, bitterly. "Lord Almighty, I wonder how such women as you can live
in the world, you know so little about it, and so little about men."

"I know all I want to about 'em," retorted Louisa, "and precious little
that's good. They're a gluttonous, self-indulgent, extravagant,
reckless, pleasure-loving lot! My husband was one of the best of 'em,
and he wouldn't have amounted to a hill of beans if I hadn't devoted
fifteen years to disciplining, uplifting, and strengthening him!"

"You managed to strengthen him so that he died before he was fifty!"

"It don't matter when a man dies," said the remorseless Mrs. Banks, "if
he's succeeded in living a decent, God-fearing life. As for you, John
Hathaway, I'll tell you the truth if you are my brother, for Susanna's
too much of a saint to speak out."

"Don't be afraid; Susanna's spoken out at last, plainly e