It was not long before the expected summons came.

“Ellen—­Ellen Brewster, come down here!”

Ellen went down.  Her grandmother met her at the foot of the stairs.  She was trembling from head to foot; her mouth twisted and wavered as if she had the palsy.

“Look here, Ellen Brewster, this ain’t true?” she stammered.

“Yes, grandma,” answered Ellen.  “I have thought it all over, and it is the only thing for me to do.”

Her grandmother clutched her arm, and the girl felt as if she were in the grasp of another will, which was more conclusive than steel.

“You sha’n’t!” she said, whispering, lest Andrew should hear, but with intense force.

“I’ve got to, grandma.  We’ve got to have the money.”

“The money,” said the old woman, with an inflection of voice and a twist of her features indicative of the most superb scorn—­“the money!  I guess you ain’t goin’ to lose such a chance as that for money.  I guess I’ve got two hundred and ten dollars a year income, and I’ll give up a half of that, and Andrew can put a mortgage on the house, if that Tenny woman has got to be supported because her husband has run off and left her and her young one.  You sha’n’t go to work in a shop.”

“I’ve got to, grandma,” said Ellen.

The old woman looked at her.  It was like a duel between two strong wills of an old race.  “You sha’n’t,” she said.

“Yes, I shall, grandma.”

Then the old woman turned upon her in a fury of rage.

“You’re a Loud all over, Ellen Brewster,” said she.  “You ’ain’t got a mite of Brewster about you.  You ’ain’t got any pride!  You’d just as soon settle down and work in a shop as do anything else.”

Fanny pushed before her.  “Look here, Mother Brewster,” said she, “you can just stop!  Ellen is my daughter, and you ’ain’t any right to talk to her this way.  I won’t have it.  If anybody is goin’ to blame her, it’s me.”

“Who be you?” said Mrs. Zelotes, sniffing.

Then she looked at them both, at Ellen and at her mother.

“If you go an’ do what you’ve planned,” said she to Ellen, “an’ if you uphold her in it,” to Fanny, “I’ve done with you.”

“Good riddance,” said Fanny, coarsely.

“I ain’t goin’ to forget that you said that,” cried Mrs. Zelotes.  She held up her dress high in front and went out of the door.  “I ain’t comin’ over here again, an’ I’ll thank you to stay at home,” said she.  Then she went away.

Soon after Fanny heard Ellen in the dining-room setting the table for supper, and went out.

“Where did you get that money you paid the dressmaker with?” she asked, abruptly.

“I borrowed it of Abby,” replied Ellen.

“Then she knows?”

“Yes.”

Fanny continued to look at Ellen with the look of one who is settling down with resignation under some knife of agony.

“Well,” said she, “there’s no need to talk any more about it before your father.  Now I guess you had better toast him some bread for his supper.”