All this cost a great deal of money—how much, Mary did not enquire. She took it for granted that Laurence could manage his own affairs—and they both looked upon the fortune inherited from the Judge as his, though of course it was left in trust to the children. That was a formality, the money had been meant for Laurence. Naturally he would not impair the capital, but would rather increase it, by good investments. The house was an investment—what could be safer than that? The Judge had always laid stress on the value and safety of real estate. And already the value of his estate had increased largely. Values were going up everywhere. A wave of prosperity had overflowed the country. With the settling of political troubles, the new sense of security, a feeling of boundless wealth and opportunity sprang up and prevailed. The great west opening its riches, the quick growth of cities, fortunes made overnight almost, golden fortunes beckoning on every hand—the eyes of men were dazzled, the gold-fever ran in their veins. Gaining and spending went hand-in-hand. A new luxury was spreading. Money-scandals spread too, and a cynical perception that those in high places were by no means above lining their pockets in alliance with the rising power of Wall street. Speculation was the note of the time. Merchant princes, railroad barons, money kings, made a new aristocracy, prodigal and flamboyant, and set the fashion for living.
These big splashes in the pool, spreading tumultuous waves, had subsided into ripples before they reached the inlet where Mary lived; but the quiet surface of her life was to some degree disturbed. The restlessness of the time reached even her, but as something to be resisted as far as possible. The few friends she had were staid people, rather older than herself, and with these or with her parents, she preferred to spend what leisure she had. Her household mainly absorbed her energies, not yet restored to their normal pitch. Even with Nora, the care of the children was a constant occupation. The delicate youngest child was Mary's special charge. He shared her room, sometimes banishing Laurence, who could not wake at night after working all day.
The other boys, now six and five years old, were handsome robust fellows, noisy and inventive of mischief. The question of their education troubled Mary. She herself taught them to read, and began their religious instruction. She did not want to send them to the town school, fearing profane influences. Her early passionate tenderness for them had become a grave solicitude. Nora petted and spoiled the boys, but Mary was their taskmaster and mentor. Nora often lost her temper with them, and slaps alternated with kisses. Mary was calm and serious, severe with their moral lapses, such as fibbing and disobedience, rarely caressing them. She felt for them much more tenderness than she showed, believing that it was not good for them to be petted. On Hilary's advice, she had not taught her boys Greek, though by this time she could read it pretty well herself. But she taught them the Bible; they went to church with her, and on Sundays they had to learn and recite to her a certain number of verses; and she heard them say their prayers at night, encouraging original efforts.
For some time past she had felt that Nora was not a good influence. She was too much of a child herself, stormy, impetuous, without any authority over the boys. When she could not control them, she would threaten, scold and at times use physical violence, always repenting it, though, and making up with kisses and fond words. Mary had forbidden her to slap the children and sharply reproved her when she broke any of the rules laid down for them. Then Nora would sulk. In fact her temper had become noticeably bad.
One day in late September, after a week's absence, trying a case at the county seat, Laurence was expected home. Nora dressed both the boys in clean white suits, combed their curls with nervous fluttering fingers, set them on the porch with injunctions not to stir and ran up to her own room to put on some adornment. The carriage drove up. Mary met Laurence at the door, and after his usual warm greeting stood a moment in the hall while he took off his coat and brought in his bags. Suddenly piercing shrieks sounded from the shrubbery. Both parents rushed out, to find the boys, just dragged out of a mud-puddle, daubed from head to foot and undergoing corporal punishment at the hands of Nora, whose angry shouts vied with their screams. Mary seized the children, ordered Nora away and received a rude answer; whereupon Laurence spoke sternly to Nora; and she turned white, trembled and fled to her room. Passing her door later Mary could hear her wild sobbing. She could hear too, while dressing the boys anew, that Laurence went in and spoke to Nora; could hear the firm curt tones of his voice.
Presently he came into the nursery, and she said:
"I really think I can't keep Nora. I can't have scenes like this."
"No, I've told her so," said Laurence, frowning. "I've told her that she can't speak to you like that, and that if she can't control herself she'll have to go."