"I think families should be alone!" Ellen cried desperately. "If I were Millie I wouldn't want any one to help run my house."
"You don't know Millie," said Matthew earnestly. "She has no proud ideas and she's very willing to have you help her. I have laid the matter before her."
Grandfather went to speak to Calvin and Amos followed him. Matthew would have followed also, but Ellen called him back. She stood by her father's desk, facing his unwilling gaze.
"Is it possible, Matthew, that you won't help me go to school? Couldn't you lend me money? You have the farm as security."
"You're not of age. You'd have to have Grandfather's consent, and that he wouldn't give. Besides, to be frank with you, I've had experience with advanced schooling and I couldn't help you to it under any circumstances. It begets pride of intellect, it leads young people away from God, it is a curse."
Suddenly Ellen looked at her brother with a detached curiosity, as her father had looked at him. When he had gone she went up to her room. Its loneliness was intolerable, and still more difficult to bear was the sound of the evensong of birds, the sight of the young moon rising over the woodland, and the echo of a laugh from the road. She went down to the kitchen. Mrs. Sassaman was on the porch, her handkerchief pressed to her eyes, swaying back and forth in her rocking-chair: Ellen determined to go and sit on the step and lay her head against her knee.
Instead she turned and went back to her room and sat down at the window. She would not give way to mourning with Mrs. Sassaman, kind though she was. This was no time to mourn; she must think, must find some avenue of escape. Wisdom and peace of mind came from learning—her father had had both—learning she must have to lift her from despair.
Suddenly her heart leaped. The mysterious visitor to whom her father meant to entrust her—who and where was he? He had said that he lived not far away. Lancaster, Harrisburg, Reading, York were not far away—even Philadelphia was not much more than fifty miles. But she did not know his name, she had not observed which way his car had turned at the foot of the lane. And he was sailing at once for Europe! But he might read of her father's death in the newspaper before he sailed or later in one of the medical journals which published obituaries. Here was a gleam of hope! Her immaturity resented grief, repudiated it, would not harbor it. She paced up and down the room, now making wild plans, now crying. She had not yet realized what had happened and she still had high hopes of life.