“Oh, yes, yes,” cried Mildred, “I could not live here at all.  Let us go back.”

While returning, her father showed her apartments in other tenements for which rents of ten to sixteen dollars were charged, and she saw that she would not obtain any more in space and light than for half the money in the old house, which had been built when that part of the island was open country.

“Forgive me, papa,” she said, smiling, “that I shivered a little at the first plunge.  We will go to the old house and stay there until we can do better.  It was once evidently a beautiful home, and I believe that within it we can make a happy home, if we will.  These other tenements were never homes, and I don’t see how they ever could be.  They are angular, patent, human packing-boxes, which mock at the very idea of home coziness and privacy.  They were never built for homes, they were built to rent.  In the old house I noticed that a blank wall near will prevent people staring into our windows, and the space has not been so cut up but that we can keep ourselves somewhat secluded.”

Next to a quiet way of earning money, Mildred coveted seclusion beyond everything else.  There was one deep hope that fed her life.  Her father would work his way up into affluence, and she again could welcome Vinton Arnold to her own parlor.  Happiness would bring him better health, and the time would come when he could choose and act as his heart dictated.  With woman’s pathetic fortitude and patience she would hope and wait for that day.  But not for the world must his proud mother know to what straits they were driven, and she meant that the old house should become a hiding-place as well as a home.

Therefore the rooms in the old mansion were taken.  A stout, cheery Englishwoman, who with her plump, red arms was fighting life’s battle for herself and a brood of little ones, was engaged to clean up and prepare for the furniture.  Mildred was eager to get settled, and her father, having ordered such household goods as they required to be sent from their place of storage the following day, repaired to his place of business.

“Now, miss,” said sensible Mrs. Wheaton, “I don’t vant to do hany more than yer vants done, but hif I was you I’d give hall these ’ere vails a coat hof lime.  Vitevash is ’olesome, yer know, and sweetens heverything; hit’ll kind o’ take haway the nasty taste those drunken people left.”

“Please whitewash, then, and use plenty of lime.  If you can sweeten these rooms, do so by all means, but I fear that result is beyond your brush or any other.”

“You’ve seen better days, miss, and I ’ave meself; but yer mustn’t be down’arted, yer know.  See ’ow the sunshine comes in, and ven hit falls hon a carpet, a little furniture, and yer hown people, these ’ere rooms vill soon grow ’omelike, and yer’ll come back to ’em hafteryer day’s vork’s hover gladly henough.  I s’pose yer’ll vork, since you’ve come hamong people who must vork hearly and late.”