“Yes, it was hard.  I did what I could for my poor old boy, but it was very hard.  We lived very quietly; I had begun to come to my senses then; we had but one maid.  But, even then, Sue, Philip wasn’t capable of holding a job of that sort.  How could he manage what he didn’t understand?  Poor Phil—–­” Mrs. Carroll’s bright eyes brimmed with tears, and her mouth quivered.  “However, we had some happy times together with the babies,” she said cheerfully, “and when he went away from us, four years later, with his better salary we were just beginning to see our way clear.  So that left me, with my five, Sue, without a cent in the world.  An old cousin of my father owned this house, and she wrote that she would give us all a home, and out we came,—­Aunt Betty’s little income was barely enough for her, so I sold books and taught music and French, and finally taught in a little school, and put up preserves for people, and packed their houses up for the winter—–­”

“How did you do it!”

“Sue, I don’t know!  Anna stood by me,—­my darling!” The last two words came in a passionate undertone.  “But of course there were bad times.  Sometimes we lived on porridges and milk for days, and many a night Anna and Phil and I have gone out, after dark, to hunt for dead branches in the woods for my kitchen stove!” And Mrs. Carroll, unexpectedly stirred by the pitiful memory, broke suddenly into tears, the more terrible to Susan because she had never seen her falter before.

It was only for a moment.  Then Mrs. Carroll dried her eyes and said cheerfully: 

“Well, those times only make these seem brighter!  Anna is well started now, we’ve paid off the last of the mortgage, Phil is more of a comfort than he’s ever been—­no mother could ask a better boy!- -and Jo is beginning to take a real interest in her work.  So everything is coming out better than even my prayers.”

“Still,” smiled Susan, “lots of people have things comfortable, without such a terrible struggle!”

“And lots of people haven’t five fine children, Sue, and a home in a big garden.  And lots of mothers don’t have the joy and the comfort and the intimacy with their children in a year that I have every day.  No, I’m only too happy now, Sue.  I don’t ask anything better than this.  And if, in time, they go to homes of their own, and we have some more babies in the family—­it’s all living, Sue, it’s being a part of the world!”

Mrs. Carroll carried away her cakes to the big stone jar in the pantry.  Susan, pensively nibbling a peeled slice of apple, had a question ready for her when she came back.

“But suppose you’re one of those persons who get into a groove, and simply can’t live?  I want to work, and do heroic things, and grow to be something, and how can I?  Unless—–­” her color rose, but her glance did not fall, “unless somebody marries me, of course.”

“Choose what you want to do, Sue, and do it.  That’s all.”