She used it now.  Mrs. Edwards’s military tactics were those of direct onslaught, and no saving of powder.  “Elmira’s afraid to go unless you do,” said she.  “You’ll be keepin’ her home, an’ she ain’t had a chance to go to many parties, poor child!”

Jerome met Elmira’s beseeching eyes and frowned aside, blushing like a girl.  “Well, I don’t know,” said he; “I’ll see.”

That was the provincial form of masculine concession to feminine importunity.  Mrs. Edwards nodded to Elmira when Jerome had shut the door.  “He’ll go,” said she.

Elmira smiled and quivered with half-fearful delight.  Lawrence Prescott was coming to see her the next day, and the day after that she would be sure to meet him again at Squire Merritt’s.  She trembled before her own happiness, as before an angel whose wings cast shadows of the dread of delight.

“You’d better go to bed now,” said her mother, with a meaning look; “you want to look bright to-morrow, and you’ve got a good deal before you.”

The next day not a word was said to Jerome about Lawrence Prescott’s expected call.  He noticed vaguely that something unusual seemed to be going on in the parlor; then divined, with a careless dismissal of the subject, that it was house-cleaning.  He had a secret of his own that day which might have rendered him less curious about the secrets of others.  There were scarcely enough shoes finished to take to Dale, only a half-lot, but Jerome announced his intention of going, to Ozias Lamb, with assumed carelessness.

“Why don’t ye wait till the lot is finished?” asked Ozias.

“Guess I’ll take a half-lot this time,” replied Jerome.

Ozias eyed him sharply, but said nothing.

Jerome had in his room a little iron-bound strong-box which had belonged to his father, though few treasures had poor Abel Edwards ever had occasion to store in it.  After dinner that noon Jerome went up-stairs, unlocked the strong-box, took out some coins, handling them carefully lest they jingle, and put them in his leather wallet.  Then he went down-stairs and out the front door as stealthily as if he had been thieving.  Elmira and her mother were at work in the parlor, and saw him go down the walk and disappear up the road.

“I’ll tell you what ’tis,” said Mrs. Edwards, with one of her sharp, confirmatory nods, “J’rome’s been takin’ out some of that money, an’ he’s goin’ to Dale to get him some new clothes.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Oh, you see if he ’ain’t.  He ’ain’t got a coat nor a vest fit to wear to that party, an’ he knows it.  If he’s taken some of that money he’s savin’ up towards the mortgage I’m glad of it.  Folks ought to have a little somethin’ as they go along; if they don’t, first thing they know they’ll get past it.”

Jerome did not start for Dale until it was quite late in the afternoon, working hard meanwhile in the shop.  The day was another of those typical ones of early spring, which had come lately, drooping as to every leaf and bud with that hot languor which forces bloom.  The door and windows of the little shop were set wide open.  The honey and spice-breaths of flowers mingled with the rank effluvia of leather like a delicate melody with a harsh bass.  Jerome pegged along in silence with knitted brow, yet with a restraint of smiles on his lips.