“It seems very hard,” the girl made reply. The idea came to her that very possibly this would put an extra strain upon the facilities and financial strength of the Resting House.
“Hard!” her father exclaimed, stretching his hands over the stove-top; “them rich people are harder than Pharaoh’s heart. What do them Minsters care about poor folks, whether they starve or freeze to death, or anything?”
“Oh, it is the Minsters, you say!” Jessica looked up now, with a new interest. “Sure enough, they own the furnaces. How could they have done such a thing, with winter right ahead of us?”
“It’s all to make more money,” put in Lucinda. “Them that don’t need it’ll do anything to get it. What do they care? That Kate Minster of yours, for instance, she’ll wear her sealskin and eat pie just the same. What does it matter to her?”
“No; she has a good heart. I know she has,” said Jessica. “She wouldn’t willingly do harm to any one. But perhaps she has nothing to do with managing such things. Yes, that must be it.”
“I guess Schuyler Tenney and Hod Boyce about run the thing, from what I hear,” commented the father. “Tenney’s been bossing around since summer begun, and Boyce is the lawyer, so they say.”
Ben suddenly stopped, and looked first at Jessica, then at Lucinda. Catching the latter’s eye, he made furtive motions to her to leave the room; but she either did not or would not understand them, and continued stolidly at her work.
“That Kate you spoke about,” he went on stum-blingly, nodding hints at Lucinda to go away as he spoke, “she’s the tall girl, with the black eyes and her chin up in the air, ain’t she?”
“Yes,” the two sisters answered, speaking together.
“Well, as I was saying about Hod Boyce,” Ben said, and then stopped in evident embarrassment. Finally he added, confusedly avoiding Jessica’s glance, “‘Cindy, won’t you jest step outside for a minute? I want to tell your sister something—something you don’t know about.”