andkerchief at
intervals to her reddened eyes. And that is what she really wanted to
do, for she had loved her husband, and she respected the conventions.
What she did was to put on a white shirtwaist and a black skirt at seven
o'clock the morning after the funeral.

The store had been closed the day before. She entered it at seven
forty-five, as Aloysius was sweeping out with wet sawdust and a languid
broom. The extra force of holiday clerks straggled in, uncertainly, at
eight or after, expecting an hour or two of undisciplined gossip. At
eight-ten Molly Brandeis walked briskly up to the plush photograph
album, whisked off its six-dollar price mark, and stuck in its place
a neatly printed card bearing these figures: "To-day--79@!" The plush
album went home in a farmer's wagon that afternoon.

CHAPTER TWO

Right here there should be something said about Fanny Brandeis. And yet,
each time I turn to her I find her mother plucking at my sleeve. There
comes to my mind the picture of Mrs. Brandeis turning down Norris Street
at quarter to eight every morning, her walk almost a march, so firm and
measured it was, her head high, her chin thrust forward a little, as a
fighter walks, but not pugnaciously; her short gray skirt clearing the
ground, her shoulders almost consciously squared. Other Winnebago women
were just tying up their daughters' pigtails for school, or sweeping the
front porch, or watering the hanging baskets. Norris Street residents
got into the habit of timing themselves by Mrs. Brandeis. When she
marched by at seven forty-five they hurried a little with the tying of
the hair bow, as they glanced out of the window. When she came by again,
a little before twelve, for her hasty dinner, they turned up the fire
under the potatoes and stirred the flour thickening for the gravy.

Mrs. Brandeis had soon learned that Fanny and Theodore could manage
their own school toilettes, with, perhaps, some speeding up on the part
of Mattie, the servant girl. But it needed her keen brown eye to detect
corners that Aloysius had neglected to sweep out with wet sawdust, and
her presence to make sure that the counter covers were taken off and
folded, the outside show dusted and arranged, the windows washed, the
whole store shining and ready for business by eight o'clock. So Fanny
had even learned to do her own tight, shiny, black, shoulder-length
curls, which she tied back with a black bow. They were wet, meek, and
tractable