"Just you wait," said Price, when he heard this. "They've three years more to wade through, and they'll never hold together all that time. It has a very queer look, too, that, just as soon as they shoved us out, they began to make money again. Bob Winston's the sort of fellow to look out for himself, and he had this thing all cut and dried."
"Look here," remarked a listener, "you signed your own selves out. Nobody made you. I haven't any faith in the scheme, but I like truth for all that."
The men worked with a will. The monthly club meetings took on a new interest; and they decided, if the prosperity continued, to open a co-operative store another year. They were growing more thoughtful and intelligent, and Gilman's influence upon them was excellent, while his experiences widened their views. A little fresh blood certainly worked no harm.
Jack was very cheery again. It seemed to him they had pulled through the worst. The larger outlook was better: goods were going abroad, and money or bonds were coming back. Here and there some new enterprise started, but still there were hundreds of men out of employment. Yerbury showed various signs of a new thriftiness. The farms about were better managed. Some idle men had ventured to hire a little ground the past summer, and raise sufficient to have something over for their trouble. The Webbers succeeded beautifully. Of course there were slurs about a Dutchman living on a cabbage a week, but every one knew the Webbers were not that kind. What Germans were able to do nicely and wisely, Americans might copy to their profit. When some of the natives were out of work, they patched up their fences, painted a bit, laid a bad place in the sidewalk, instead of hanging round a saloon.
As for those who were living through the sad sweet lesson of loving and losing, time went on with them also. If they could have stayed his hand! Sylvie recovered from the first shock: she could never suffer quite so intensely again, for there was one to share her least thought, her most trivial to her greatest pain. The explanation had come about very gently, making only a small ripple. Mrs. Lawrence was delighted: she always had liked Sylvie, and she was certain that Fred was a better match than Jack Darcy, though she admitted he was remarkable for a young man with no better opportunities.
Miss Barry was truly satisfied. She would cling to her little dream of "orders" and "kinds" to the last, but she always did it in an unobtrusive way. She had felt all her life long, rather all their lives, that they were made for one another. Less practically clear-eyed than her young niece,—brought up in the active reasoning and doing of to-day, rather than the doctrine of passive suffering that had been in the old creed for women,—she would have assented when Sylvie refused. To be sure, if Jack Darcy had won her he would have had a delicate and sincere welcome; but I think her eye would never have lighted with the true mother-love at his coming, as it did at Fred's. The worth of his years of refinement and polish came out now. He never seemed at loss or awkward in the sickroom. If he was reading, he warily noted the first droop of the eyes; he could tell by the lines in her face when talking wearied her, or when she preferred being alone. Every thing between them was harmonious.
She amazed even Dr. Maverick by her improvement, though she held her life even yet on the same frail tenure. She really hoped to live until spring, when she should plan for Sylvie's marriage. Fred had made a very profitable engagement with the widow he had spoken of, and was to furnish designs for the interior of her house and furniture. There was to be one purely Grecian room, one on the old Roman model, a sunset room where every thing was to be in accord, and a "sea" room fit for Naiads or Undines. Sylvie was intensely interested. This Mrs. Spottiswoode was young and handsome, the widow of a man nearly three times her age, and childless.
Fred Lawrence was proud to have something of his very own to offer Sylvie, and she took it as the highest of all compliments. She did like the profession, if that it could be called; for it brought them nearer together, it was something they could both share. She copied designs and art essays, she drew patterns, she painted now and then, days when Miss Barry was at her best. She would make of herself something that should enhance Fred's pride in her,—as if he was not proud enough already!
The one least contented with all this was Philip Maverick.
"I never was so thunderstruck in all my life! That's just the word to express it, for it left me dazed as the blackness does after the lightning. I would have sworn, Jack, that she loved you, and you loved her. Good heavens! if I had not believed that, if I had not been too honorable to seek to play a friend a scurvy trick, it would have gone hard with me if I had not won her for myself."