“Gregory must keep those men,” she said. “There’s no doubt that Harry meant to do it, and it would be horribly unfair to turn them loose now when there is absolutely nothing going on. Besides, Tom Moran is a man I’m specially sorry for. As I told you, he left a young wife and a very little child behind him when he came out here.”
“One would wonder why he did it,” responded Agatha.
“He had to. There seems to be a notion in the Old Country that we earn our money easily, but it’s very wrong. We’ll take that man’s case as an example. He has a little, desolate holding up in the bush of Ontario, a hole chopped out of the forest and studded all over with sawn-off fir-stumps. On it is a little two-roomed log shack. In all probability there isn’t a settlement within two or three leagues of the spot. Now, as a rule, a place of that kind won’t produce enough to keep a man for several years after he has partially cleared it, and unless he can earn something in the meanwhile he must give it up. Moran, it seems, got heavily into debt with the nearest storekeeper, and had to choose between selling the place or coming out here where wages are higher. Well, you can probably imagine what it must be to the woman who stayed behind in the desolate bush, seeing nobody for weeks together, though I’ve no doubt that she’d bear it uncomplainingly believing that her husband would come back with enough to clear the debt.”
Agatha could imagine the state of affairs in the little home, and a certain indignation against Gregory crept into her heart. She had once liked to think of him as pitiful and chivalrous, and now, it seemed, he was quite willing that this woman should make her sacrifice in vain.
“But why have you taken the trouble to impress this on—me?” she asked.
Mrs. Hastings smiled. “I want you to plead that woman’s cause. Gregory may do what you ask him gracefully. That would be much the nicest way out of it.”
“The nicest way?”
“Yes,” answered Mrs. Hastings, “there is another one. Gregory is going to keep Tom Moran, anyway. Harry has one or two friends in this neighborhood who feel it more or less of an obligation on them to maintain his credit.”
Agatha felt the blood rise to her face. It was an unpleasant thing to admit, but she fancied that Gregory might yield to judicious pressure when he would not be influenced by either compassion or a sense of equity. It flashed upon her that had Mrs. Hastings believed that she still retained any tenderness for the man, the story of Moran would not have been told to her. The whole situation was horribly embarrassing, but Agatha had courage in her.
“Well,” she promised simply, “I will speak to him.”