mine."

"Well, you can bet he'll get on," her father had assured her.

The opening of the Brownie's speech had come to be one of the humorous
catchwords of the Emery household, to express firmness of purpose, and
it was now with a mixture of laughter and tears that Lydia recalled the
scene--the dusky interior of the barn, the sweet, strong scent of the
hay, the absurd little figure grimacing and squeaking on the farm wagon,
and her big, little-known, all-powerful father, one strong arm around
her, protecting her from all she feared, as nothing in the world could
protect her now.

She was grown up now, and must learn how to protect her own children
against dangers less obvious than thunderstorms. It was her turn now to
insist on making herself heard above uproar and confusion. Her little
Brownie playmate shamed her into action. She would not wait for a pause
in the clatter of small events about Paul and herself; she would raise
her voice and shout to him, if necessary, overcoming the shy reluctance
of the spirit to speak aloud of its life.

CHAPTER XXVII

LYDIA REACHES HER GOAL AND HAS HER TALK WITH HER HUSBAND

Paul was still asleep when Lydia opened her eyes one morning and said to
herself with a little laugh, but quite resolutely: "I come to tell ye of
a world ye mortals wot not of."

As she dressed noiselessly, she fortified herself with the thought that
she had, in her nervousness, greatly overestimated the seriousness of
her undertaking. There was nothing so formidable in what she meant to
do, after all. She only wished to talk reasonably with her husband about
how to avoid having their life degenerate into a mere campaign for
material advancement. She did not use this phrase in her thoughts about
the matter. She thought more deeply, and perhaps more clearly, than
during her confused girlhood, but she had no learned or dignified
expressions for the new ideas dawning in her. As she coiled her dark
hair above her face, rather pale these days, like a white flower instead
of the glowing rose it had been, she said to herself, like a child:
"Now, I mustn't get excited. I must remember that all I want is a chance
for all of us, Paul and the children and me, to grow up as good as we
can, and loving one another the most for the nicest things in us and not
because we're handy stepping-stones to help one another get on. And we
can't do that if we don't really put our minds to it and make that the
thing we're