But the evening was not over.  After Teddy was in bed, Martie, staring at herself in the mirror, suddenly came to a new decision.  She ran down to the study, and entered informally.

“Pa!” She was on his knee, her arms about him.  “I’m sorry I am such a problem—­so little a comfort!—­to you.  Forgive me, Pa, for I always truly loved you—­”

“If you truly want my forgiveness,” he said stiffly, trying to dislodge the clinging young arms, “you know how to deserve it—­”

The old phraseology, and the old odour of teeth and skin!  Martie alone was changed.

“But forgive me, Pa, and I’ll truly try never to cross you again.”  Reluctantly, he conceded a response to her kiss, and she sat on the arm of his chair, and played with the thin locks of his hair while she completed the peace.  Then she went into the kitchen, where Lydia was sitting at the table, soaking circles of paper in brandy for the preservation of the glasses of jelly ranged before her.

“Lyd, I just went and told Pa that I was sorry that I am such a beast, and we’ve made it up—­”

“I don’t think you ought to talk as if it was just a quarrel,” Lydia said.  “If Pa was angry with you, he had good cause—­”

“Darling, I know he did!  But I couldn’t bear to go to sleep with ill feeling between us, and so I came down, and apologized, and did the whole thing handsomely—­”

“You couldn’t talk so lightly if you really cared, Mart!”

“I care tremendously, Lyd.  Why don’t you use paraffin?”

“I know,” Lydia said with interest, “Angela does.  But somehow Ma always did it this way.”

“Well, I’ll mark ’em for you!” Martie began to cut neat little labels from white paper, and to write on them, “Currant Jelly with Rasp. 1915.”  Presently she and Lydia were chatting pleasantly.

“I really put up too much one year,” Lydia said, “and it began to spoil, so I sent a whole box of it out to the Poor House; I don’t suppose they mind!  But Mrs. Dolan there never sent my glasses back!  However, this year I’ll give you some, Mart; unless Polly put some up.”

“Unless I go to New York!” Martie suggested.

Lydia’s whole face darkened.

“And if I do, you and Sally will be good to Teddy?” his mother asked, her tone suddenly faltering.

“Martie, what possesses you to talk about going to New York now?”

“Oh, Lyddy, you’d never understand!  It’s just the longing to do something for myself, to hold my own there, to—­well, to make good!  Marrying here, and being comfortably supported here, seems like—­ like failure, almost, to me!  If it wasn’t for Teddy, I believe that I would have gone long ago!”

“And a selfish feeling like that is strong enough to make you willing to break a good man’s heart, and desert your child?” asked Lydia in calm tones.

“It won’t break his heart, Lyd—­not nearly so much as he broke yours, years ago!  And when I can—­when I could, I would send for my boy!  He’d be happier here—­” Martie, rather timidly watching her sister’s face, suddenly realized the futility of this and changed her tone.  “But let’s not talk about it any more to-night, Lydia, we’re both too tired and excited!”