Pearl searched her mind for a word to describe it. "It feels like—Saturday—" she said at last, "—freedom, rest, plans, ambitions—it has them all, and it has something deeper still in it—it is like a section of a tree, in which history can be read, storms and winds and sunshine," for Pearl knew instinctively that it was a tower-room that Annie Gray had made for an armor for her soul, so it would not be pierced by the injustice and unkindness of the world.
"They do not understand," Pearl said again, "that's all—they do not mean to be so horrid to her—it's queer how badly people can treat each other and their conscience let them get away with it. Even if Mrs. Gray had been all they said, she had not done any wrong to them—why should they feel called upon to punish her? Well, I can tell them a few things now."
A fire burned in the fireplace, and the breakfast-table was set in front of it. Mrs. Gray, in an attractive mauve house-gown, came in from the kitchen. She was a tall woman, with steel gray eyes, with pebblings of green—the eyes of courage and high resolve. Her features were classical in their regularity, and reminded Pearl of the faces in her history reproduced from the Greek coins, lacking only the laurel wreath. Her hair was beginning to turn gray, and showed a streak at each side, over her temples. A big black braid was rolled around her perfectly round head; a large green jade brooch, with a braided silver edge, fastened her dress. Her hands were brown and hard, but long, shapely and capable looking.
The boy was sleeping late, so Pearl and her hostess ate their breakfast alone.
"Will you let me stay with you, Mrs. Gray," Pearl asked, when breakfast was over. "I will make my own bed, keep my things tidy, try not to spill my tea. I will wipe my feet, close the screen door, and get up for breakfast."
Mrs. Gray looked across the table, with her dear eyes fastened on her guest. Suddenly they began to grow dim with tears.
"Pearl," she said, laughing, "I don't know what there is about you that makes me want to cry. I've gone through some rough places in life without a tear, but you seem to have a way all your own to start me off."
"But I don't hurt you, do I?" Pearl asked, in distress. "Surely I don't—I wouldn't do that for the world."
"Not a bit of it," laughed her hostess, as she wiped her eyes, and then, blinking hard to clear away the last traces of grief, she said:
"Pearl, before you come to board with me you should know something about me; you have no doubt heard some strange things."