“Don’t you really, truly, know anything about the candy Constance is making to sell?”
“I know that she is making candy, and that she contrives somehow to sell a good deal of it, but she and Mammy have kept the secret as to how it is sold. They did not tell me, and I wouldn’t ask,” said Eleanor looking straight into Jean’s eyes.
“Oh!” said Jean.
“Mammy has rather high ideas of what we ought or ought not to do, you know, Jean,” continued Eleanor, “and she was horrified at the idea of Constance making candy for money. And yet, Jean, both Constance and I must do something to help mother. You say we keep you out of our secrets. We don’t keep you out of them, but we see no reason why you should be made to bear them. Constance and I are older, and it is right that we should share some of the burden which mother must bear, but you are only a little girl and ought to be quite care-free.”
Jean’s head dropped a trifle lower.
“But since you have discovered so much, let me tell you a secret which only mother and I know, and then you will understand why she is so troubled now-a-days. Even Connie knows nothing of it. Can I trust you?”
“I’d die before I’d tell,” was the vehement protest.
“Very well then, listen: You know our house was insured for a good deal of money—fifteen thousand dollars. Well, mother felt quite safe and comfortable when she found that Mammy had paid the premium just before the house burned down, and we all thought we would soon have the amount settled up by the company and that the interest would be a big help—”
“What is the interest?” demanded Jean.
“I can’t stop to explain it all now, but when people put money in a savings bank a certain sum is paid to them each year. The bank pays the people the smaller sum each year because it—the bank, I mean—has the use of the larger amount for the time being. Do you understand?”