"To us, she certainly was. My plan is this: I will go to Mr. Metcalf and ask him to give me a place in the mill. If those other girls can work, so can I."
"Do you know who owns the mills now?"
"Yes; our cousin Archibald Wingate."
"And you would work for him? You would demean yourself to that? Yet you know how, when he offered us money last week, or to do other things for us, both father and I indignantly declined."
"Yes, I know. I, too, was glad we didn't have to take it, though I do not believe he is as bad as we think. We look at him from this side; but if we could from the other, he might not seem so hard-hearted. He said he was sorry. He seemed to feel very badly."
"Yes, and when he came and asked Cleena to let him see—her, just once more, she gave him a reproof that must have struck home. She told him he was practically the cause of mother's death,—his driving her from Fairacres,—and I shall always feel so, too."
"I hope not, dear."
"Well, I hate him. I hope I can sometime make him suffer all he has made us."
"But, Hal, that is vindictive. To be vindictive is not half as noble as to be just. Mother was just. While it grieved her to leave her home, she fully appreciated how much he must long for it. It was their grandmother's, you know, and he felt he had a right there. I do not blame him half as much as I pity him. He's such a lonely old fellow, it seems to me."
"Humph! I wouldn't work for him and take his money. I should feel as if it were tainted."