A branch of the honeysuckle that twined about the gate-post touched her shoulder, as if to remind her there was still some sweetness in life after all; but she did not heed it, nor the rose vines and clematis which made the old gray house beautiful in spite of needed repairs.  Celia saw only rotting woodwork and sagging steps.  She thought how the flower garden had been her father’s pride, and how in his spare moments, few as they were, he was sure to be found digging and trimming and training, with the happiness of the born gardener.  Ah, those days!  She remembered the half-incredulous wonder with which she had been used to hear people speak of the certainty of trouble.  She had felt so certain that joy overbalanced sorrow, that smiles were more frequent than tears.  Now she understood, since she had tried to hide her own grief under a smiling face.

From her babyhood she had been her father’s companion and confidante, driving about the country with him, interested in all that concerned his large practice.  A warm-hearted, impulsive man, open handed to the point of extravagance, Dr. Fair had had few enemies and many friends; and loving his work, life had been full of joy to him.  In contrast with those happy years the bitterness of his last days seemed doubly cruel to Celia.  Whenever she was tired and discouraged, the memory of that dark time rose before her.

She had been only a child when Patterson Whittredge left home, but she could remember how warmly her father had taken his side, and how this had caused the first coolness between him and his boyhood friend, Judge Whittredge.  The judge was influenced by his wife, and between the stubborn doctor and imperious Mrs. Whittredge there had been no love lost.

The storm had passed after a while, and when the judge’s health began to fail Dr. Fair had been called in.  But Mrs. Whittredge had not forgotten, and the doctor’s position was not an easy one.  Only his devotion to his old friend had kept him from giving up the case at the beginning.  The Gilpin will and her father’s testimony to the old man’s sanity had added to the trouble, and upon this had come the accusation which, whispered about, had broken the doctor’s heart.  Harassed by the hard times and the failure of investments, denied a place at the bedside of his friend, he had fallen an easy victim to pneumonia, outliving Judge Whittredge only a few days.  The memory of it lay like lead upon Celia’s heart.

“I have left you nothing but a heritage of misfortune, Celia,” had been his last words to her.

“Don’t think of that, father; I’ll manage,” she answered; and she had tried, but the solving of the problem was costing her the bloom of her youth.  There were the two brothers to be educated, and a delicate, almost invalid mother to be cared for, and an income that would little more than pay the taxes on their home.  To sell or rent it was not at present practicable, and she could not take boarders, for no one boarded in Friendship.  Neither could she leave to try her fortune in the city, so she had been doing whatever her hand found to do.  Sewing, embroidering, a little teaching, and, in season, pickling and preserving.  Friends had been kind, but Celia was proud and determined to fight her own battle, and sometimes, as this morning, kindness made her burden seem harder to bear.