“Then Grandma Brewster has got a little something,” said Fanny.
“Only just enough for herself,” said Andrew. Then he added, fiercely, “Mother can't be stinted of her little comforts even for Ellen.”
“I 'ain't never wanted to stint your mother of her comforts,” Fanny retorted, angrily.
“She 'ain't got but a precious little, unless she spends her principal,” said Andrew. “She 'ain't got more'n a hundred and fifty or so a year clear after her taxes and insurance are paid.”
“I ain't saying anything,” said Fanny. “But I do say you're dreadful foolish to take on so when you've got so much to fall back on, and that money in the bank. Here you haven't had to touch the interest for quite a while and it has been accumulating.”
It was agreed between the two that Ellen must say nothing to her grandmother Brewster about going to work.
“I believe the old lady would have a fit if she thought Ellen was going to work,” said Fanny. “She 'ain't never thought she ought to lift her finger.”
So Ellen was charged on no account to say anything to her grandmother about the possible necessity of her going to work.
“Your grandmother's awful proud,” said Fanny, “and she's always thought you were too good to work.”
“I don't think anybody is too good to work,” replied Ellen, but she uttered the platitude with a sort of mental reservation. In spite of herself, the attitude of worship in which she had always seen all who belonged to her had spoiled her a little. She did look at herself with a sort of compunction when she realized the fact that she might have to go to work in the shop some time. School-teaching was different, but could she earn enough school-teaching? There was a sturdy vein in the girl. All the time she pitied herself she blamed herself.