Her first resource was the homely life and interests of those with whom she dwelt.  Thus far she had regarded them as uncongenial strangers, and had contented herself with mere politeness toward them.  In her sad preoccupation she had taken little note of their characters or domestic life, and her mother had kept herself even more secluded.  Indeed the poor lady felt that it was hardly right to smile in view of her husband’s absence and misfortune, and she often chided Belle for her levity; but Belle’s life was like an over-full fountain in spring-time, and could not be repressed.

In her deep abstraction Mildred had seen, but had scarcely noted, certain changes in the farmhouse that would have interested and pleased her had her mind been at rest.  Almost unconsciously she had revealed her love of that which is pretty and inviting; therefore Susan, not content with being neat, was inclined to brighten her costume by an occasional ribbon, and to suggest comparisons between her fresh and youthful bloom and an opening flower that she would fasten in her hair as the summer day declined.  So far from resenting this imitation of her own habits and tastes, Mildred at last recognized the young girl’s awakening perceptions of womanly grace with much satisfaction.  Even poor Mrs. Atwood exhibited a tendency to emerge from her chronic and rather forlorn condition of household drudge.  For years she had known and thought of little else save sordid work, early and late.  The income from the small farm permitted no extra help except on rare occasions, and then was obtained under protest from her husband, who parted with a dollar as he would with a refractory tooth.  His strong and persistent will had impressed itself on his family, and their home life had been meagre and uninviting; the freedom and ease that he and Roger were so loath to lose, consisting chiefly in careless dress and a disregard of the little refinements and courtesies of life.

It was with some self-reproach that Mildred admitted that for nearly a month she had practically ignored these people, and that she was becoming selfish in her trouble; and yet, not so much from a sense of duty, as from a kindling zest in life, she began to take an interest in them and their ways.  She was still far too young for her spirit to lose its spring, even under a continuous weight of misfortune.  Her nature was not morbid, but sunny and wholesome, and when with the children and Belle unexpected smiles would brighten her face like glints of sunshine here and there on a cloudy day.  Deep as had been her wounds, she found that there were moments when she half forgot their pain, and an instinct of self-preservation taught her that it would be best to forget them as far as possible.