Next morning, at breakfast, Sin Saxon was as beautifully ruffled, ratted, and crimped, as gay, as bewitching, and defiant as ever, seated next Madam Routh, assiduously devoted to her in the little attentions of the meal, in high spirits and favor; even saucily alluding, across the table, to “our howl, Miss Craydocke!”

Public opinion was carried by storm; the benison of sleep had laid wrath.  Nobody knew that, an hour before, she had been in Madam Routh’s room, making a clean breast of the whole transaction, and disclosing the truth of Miss Craydocke’s magnanimous and tactful interposition, confessing that without this she had been at her wits’ ends how to put a stop to it, and promising, like a sorry child, to behave better, and never do so any more.

Two hours later she came meekly to Miss Craydocke’s room, where the “bee” was gathered,—­for mere companionship to-day, with chess and fancy-work,—­her flourishes all laid aside, her very hair brushed close to her pretty head, and a plain gingham dress on.

“Miss Craydocke!” she said, with an air she could not divest of a little comicality, but with an earnestness behind it shining through her eyes, “I’m good; I’m converted.  I want some tow-cloth to sew on immediately.”  And she sat down, folding her hands, waiting.

Miss Craydocke laughed.  “I don’t know.  I’m afraid I haven’t anything to be done just now, unless I cut out some very coarse, heavy homespun.”

“I’d be glad if you would.  Beggars mustn’t be choosers; but if they might, I should say it was the very thing.  Sackcloth, you know; and then, perhaps, the ashes might be excused.  I’m in solemn earnest, though.  I’m reformed.  You’ve done it; and you,” she added, turning round short on Leslie Goldthwaite,—­“you’ve been at it a long time, unbeknownst to yourself; and you, ma’am,—­you finished it last night.  It’s been like the casting out of the devils in Scripture.  They always give a howl, you know, and go out of ’em!”

CHAPTER XIV.

“FRIENDS OF MAMMON.”

Sin Saxon came heart and soul into Miss Craydocke’s generous and delicate plans.  The work was done, to be sure.  The third trunk, that had been “full of old winter dresses to be made over,” was locked upon the nice little completed frocks and sacks that forestalled the care and hurry of “fall work” for the overburdened mother, and were to gladden her unexpecting eyes, as such store only can gladden the anxious family manager who feels the changeful, shortening days come treading, with their speedy demands, upon the very skirts of long, golden sunshiny August hours.

Susan and Martha Josselyn felt, on their part, as only busy workers feel who fasten the last thread, or dash a period to the last page, and turn around to breathe the breath of the free, and choose for once and for a while what they shall do.  The first hour of this freedom rested them more than the whole six weeks that they had been getting half-rest, with the burden still upon their thought and always waiting for their hands.  It was like the first half-day to children, when school has closed and books are brought home for the long vacation.  All the possible delight of coming weeks is distilled to one delicious drop, and tasted then.