Tears of gratified feeling were in Belle’s eyes, but she said brusquely, “Not versed in society’s ways!  Account, then, for that fashionable suit of clothes you are wearing.”

“They were not cut in Forestville,” he replied dryly.

“Roger,” she said impulsively, “I’m wonderfully glad you’ve come to New York to live, for I was dying for a little society and fun that mother and Millie wouldn’t disapprove of.  They are so particular, you know, that I fairly ache from trying to walk in the strait and narrow path which is so easy for them.  I want a lark.  I must have a lark before long, or I’ll explode.  What can we do that will be real genuine fun?  It will do you good, too, or you’ll become a dull boy with nothing but work, work, work.  You needn’t tell me the world was only made to work in.  If it was, I’ve no business here.  You must think up something spicy, and no make-believe.  I want to go somewhere where I can laugh with my whole heart.  I can’t go on much longer at this old humdrum, monotonous jog, any more than your colts up at the farm could go around like the plow-horses, and I know it isn’t right to expect it of me.  And yet what has been the case?  Off early in the morning to work, standing all day till I’m lame in body and mad in spirit—­stupid owls to make us stand till we are so out of sorts that we are ready to bite customers’ heads off instead of waiting on ’em pleasantly.  When I come home, mamma often looks tired and sad, for this life is wearing on her, and she is worrying in secret over papa’s health.  Millie, too, is tired and downhearted in spite of her trying to hide it.  She won’t go out anywhere because she says there are no places where young girls can go unattended that are within our means.  I’ve got tired of the other shop-girls.  A few of them are nice; but more of them are stupid or coarse, so I just sit around and mope, and go to bed early to get through the time.  If I even try to romp with the children a little, mamma looks distressed, fearing I will disturb papa, who of late, when he comes out of his dozing condition, is strangely irritable.  A year ago he’d romp and talk nonsense with me to my heart’s content; but that’s all passed.  Now is it natural for a young girl little more than sixteen to live such a life?”

“No, Belle, it is not, and yet I have seen enough of the city during the week I have been here to know that your mother and sister are right in their restrictions.”

“Well, then, it’s a burning shame that in a city called Christian a poor girl is not more safe outside of her own door than if she were in a jungle.  Do you mean to say that girls, situated as Millie and I are, must remain cooped up in little rooms the year round when our work is over?”