wrench.  Until they came to Hampton they had always lived in houses, and her adaptation to a flat had been hard—­a flat without a parlour.  Hannah Bumpus regarded a parlour as necessary to a respectable family as a wedding ring to a virtuous woman.  Janet and Lise would be growing up, there would be young men, and no place to see them save the sidewalks.  The fear that haunted her came true, and she never was reconciled.  The two girls went to the public schools, and afterwards, inevitably, to work, and it seemed to be a part of her punishment for the sins of her forefathers that she had no more control over them than if they had been boarders; while she looked on helplessly, they did what they pleased; Janet, whom she never understood, was almost as much a source of apprehension as Lise, who became part and parcel of all Hannah deemed reprehensible in this new America which she refused to recognize and acknowledge as her own country.

To send them through the public schools had been a struggle.  Hannah used to lie awake nights wondering what would happen if Edward became sick.  It worried her that they never saved any money:  try as she would to cut the expenses down, there was a limit of decency; New England thrift, hitherto justly celebrated, was put to shame by that which the foreigners displayed, and which would have delighted the souls of gentlemen of the Manchester school.  Every once in a while there rose up before her fabulous instances of this thrift, of Italians and Jews who, ignorant emigrants, had entered the mills only a few years before they, the Bumpuses, had come to Hampton, and were now independent property owners.  Still rankling in Hannah’s memory was a day when Lise had returned from school, dark and mutinous, with a tale of such a family.  One of the younger children was a classmate.

“They live on Jordan Street in a house, and Laura has roller skates.  I don’t see why I can’t.”

This was one of the occasions on which Hannah had given vent to her indignation.  Lise was fourteen.  Her open rebellion was less annoying than Janet’s silent reproach, but at least she had something to take hold of.

“Well, Lise,” she said, shifting the saucepan to another part of the stove, “I guess if your father and I had put both you girls in the mills and crowded into one room and cooked in a corner, and lived on onions and macaroni, and put four boarders each in the other rooms, I guess we could have had a house, too.  We can start in right now, if you’re willing.”

But Lise had only looked darker.

“I don’t see why father can’t make money—­other men do.”

“Isn’t he working as hard as he can to send you to school, and give you a chance?”

“I don’t want that kind of a chance.  There’s Sadie Howard at school—­she don’t have to work.  She liked me before she found out where I lived...”