That was a gloomy day to Mollie.  She was out of humor with her boyhood.  She was ashamed of herself one moment for bewailing Helena, and furious the next with Mr. John and the ash-man.  She felt cross and discouraged, and was glad when the darkness came, and she could go to bed and sleep.  But the next morning she was in no cheerier, braver frame of mind; and she walked home at noon, considering plain sewing versus book-keeping as a means of subsistence.  Mr. John would have rejoiced if he could have seen his “little leaven” working.

“The gutters on the roof are full of leaves, Mollie,” said her mother as she came in.  “Stop on your way back to school and send Michael to clean them out.  I think we are going to have rain, and we don’t want them washed into the pipes.”

“How much will he charge, mother?”

“About fifty cents.”

“That fifty cents shall buy something for you,” said Mollie to herself.  “The boy of the family shall clean the roof.”

There was just enough recklessness in her mood to make her rather enjoy than fear the prospect.  She left her mother getting dinner, and took a broom and escaped up the garret stairs and through the scuttle.  The roof did not slope steeply, and she let herself down with an easy slide to the rear eaves.  She rested her feet on the edge of the house and swept as far as her arms would reach east and west.  Then she shifted her position and swept again until the whole length was clean.

She heard her mother calling her to dinner, but she had the front gutter yet to sweep, and, climbing up, went down on the other side.  There was a thought which gave zest to her work on that side,—­Mr. John would be coming home that way to dinner and would see her.  Besides, other people would see her, and no passer-by should say that she did not do her work as thoroughly and fearlessly as any boy.  She had taken for granted that Mr. John’s eyes would be drawn upward; but when he had walked almost by, looking straight ahead, she sent him a shrill call.  He looked at the windows, around the yard, and even as far up as the trees.

“On the roof,” screamed Mollie, and in her excitement she forgot her situation and lost her balance and slipped,—­not far, but one foot went out beyond the eaves into the air.  The other one rallied to the rescue, supported her whole weight, and helped her to regain her position.  Danger was over in a moment, but it had been danger of death, and Mollie’s heart beat wildly, and a faintness came over her.  Still through it all she was able to see Mr. John’s approving smile as he lifted his hat and waved it gayly in applause.

“He wouldn’t care if I had fallen and been killed,” thought Mollie, as she recovered herself.  “All he wants is to have me succeed in being a horrid boy.  I’ve a mind to give it up just to spite him.”

She could not know—­so successfully had he concealed his agitation under that bland smile—­how faint he, too, had been in the moment of her danger, nor how fast his heart was still beating as he walked on, nor what resolves he was forming to put a speedy end to her boyhood.