When Lucy reached home she found her aunt in the sitting room bending disapprovingly over the basket of undarned stockings.

“I see you haven’t touched these,” she observed, in a chiding tone. “Where’ve you been?”

“I went to get some eggs.”

“Eggs! What for?”

“For my breakfast to-morrow. You said you couldn’t spare any, so I’ve bought some.”

“Where?”

The word expressed mingled wrath and wonder.

“Next door.”

The woman looked puzzled. She thought a moment.

“Where’d you say?” she asked after a pause.

“Next door—at the Howes’.” 71

“The Howes’!” Ellen fairly hissed the name. “You went to the Howes’ for eggs?”

“Why not?”

With a swift motion her aunt strode forward and snatched the box from Lucy’s light grasp.

“You went to the Howes—to the Howes—an’ told ’em I didn’t give you enough to eat?”

Livid, the woman crowded nearer, clutching the girl’s arm in a fierce, merciless grip; her blue eyes flashed, and her lips trembled with anger.

“I didn’t say you didn’t give me enough to eat,” explained Lucy, trying unsuccessfully to draw away from the cruel fingers that held her.

“What did you tell ’em?”

“I just said you couldn’t spare any eggs for us to use.”

“Spare eggs! I can spare all the eggs I like,” Ellen retorted. “I ain’t a pauper. If I chose I could eat every egg there is in that pantry.” She shook her niece viciously. “I only sell my eggs ’cause I’d rather,” she went on.

“I thought you said we couldn’t afford to have eggs when they where so high,” explained Lucy. “You said they were sixty-six cents a dozen.” 72

“I could afford to eat ’em if they was a dollar,” interrupted Ellen, her voice rising. “If they were two dollars!”

“I didn’t understand.”

“’Tain’t your business to understand,” snapped her aunt. “Your business is to do as I say. Think of your goin’ to the Howes—to the Howes of all people—an’ askin’ for eggs! It’ll be nuts for them. The Howes.” The circling fingers loosened weakly.

“I wonder,” she continued, “the Howes sold you any eggs. They wouldn’t ’a’ done it, you may be sure, but to spite me. I reckon they were only too glad to take the chance you offered ’em.”

“They weren’t glad,” protested Lucy indignantly. “They didn’t want to sell the eggs at all, at least two of them didn’t; but the one called Jane insisted on letting me have them.”

“What’d they say?”

“I couldn’t understand,” Lucy replied. “They seemed to be afraid of displeasing somebody called Martin. They said he wouldn’t like it.”

“Martin wouldn’t, eh?” Ellen gave a disagreeable chuckle. “They’re right there. 73 Martin won’t like it. They’ll be lucky if he doesn’t flay them alive for’ doin’ it.”

“But why, Aunt Ellen? Why?” inquired Lucy.

“Because the Howes hate us, root an’ branch; because they’ve injured an’ insulted us for generations, an’ are keepin’ right on injurin’ an’ insultin’ us. That’s why!” Ellen’s wrath, which had waned a little, again rose to a white heat. “Because they’d go any length to do us harm—every one of ’em.” Again the grip on Lucy’s arm tightened painfully.

Dragging the girl to the window the old woman cried:

“Do you see that pile of stones over there? That’s the wall the Howes built years an’ years ago—built because of the grudge they bore the Websters, likely. Did you ever look on such an eyesore?”

“Why don’t they fix it?” asked Lucy naively.

“Yes, why don’t they? You may well ask that!” returned Ellen with scathing bitterness. “Why don’t they? Because they’re too mean an’ stingy—that’s why. Because they think that by lettin’ it go to ruin an’ makin’ my place look like a dump heap, they can drive me 74 to spend my money to do it, so’st they can save theirs. Because they’re such lyin’, deceitful critters they actually pretend the wall don’t belong to ’em anyhow—that it’s mine! Mine! That’s why. So they leave it there, lookin’ like the devil’s own playground, hopin’ that some day I’ll get so sick of seem’ it that way that I’ll build it up.”

She choked for breath.

“But I shan’t,” she went on. “I never shall, long’s I live. If I was to be drawn an’ quartered I wouldn’t do it. No. If Martin Howe thinks he’s the only person in the world who can hold out for a principle, he’s mistaken. I’ve got a will that can match his, match his an’ beat it, too, an’ he’ll learn it sometime. I can put up with seein’ that wall just as long as he can.”

A light of understanding began to break in on Lucy’s bewilderment.

“I don’t see——” she began, then halted before her aunt’s stern gaze.

“You don’t see what? Out with it.”

“I don’t see why you couldn’t build it up together.”

“You don’t!” sneered Ellen contemptuously, “You’d help those Howes fix their 75 wall, I s’pose, same’s you’d go an’ buy their eggs.”

The withering intonation of the words echoed through the room.

“I’m goin’ to tell you right now, Lucy Webster, that if you have a spark of pride, an atom of regard for your father, your grandfather, or your great-grandfather, you’ll put all such notions as that plumb out of your head. You’ll have no dealin’s with the Howes. You’ll just hate ’em as your folks have always hated ’em; an’ you’ll vow from now on that if Heaven ever gives you the chance you’ll get even with ’em.” The tense voice ceased.

Through the stillness the whispers of the great elm on the lawn could be heard blending with the song of a vesper sparrow. Already twilight had folded the valley in mystery until only the peaks of the hills were tipped with light.

Contrasted with the peace of the night, man’s strivings seemed peculiarly out of harmony. But to Ellen’s heart the scene brought no tranquillity.

“Now you know what your duty is,” she concluded, with a final vindictive outburst. 76

“If it is my duty,” the girl answered, her eyes still upon the distant landscape.

“Of course it’s your duty. There ain’t no question about that.”

“Each of us must settle with his own conscience what his duty is,” Lucy observed slowly.

“Not if it’s been handed down to him,” put in Ellen quickly. “I guess your duty’s chalked out for you pretty plain; an’ I reckon if you’re any sort of a Webster you’ll do it an’ not go branchin’ off followin’ notions of your own—not after all these years.”

“I don’t believe in keeping up traditions unless they are good ones.”

The older woman’s lips tightened.

“You mean you’d break off from what your folks thought?”

“If I felt it to be right, yes.”

Ellen drew a quick, impatient breath.

“You mean to say you’d set yourself up as knowin’ mor’n your people before you did?”

“I believe each generation grows wiser, or ought to—wiser and kinder.”

“Kindness has nothin’ to do with it.”

“Yes, it has,” persisted Lucy softly. “Unless we become more kind, how is the world ever to become better?” 77

“Pish!” ejaculated Ellen. “Now see here. You ain’t comin’ into my house to preach to me. I’m older’n you, an’ I know without bein’ told what I want to do. So long’s you stay under this roof you’ll behave like a Webster—that’s all I’ve got to say. If you ain’t a-goin’ to be a Webster an’ prefer to disgrace your kin, the sooner you get out the better.”

“Very well. I can go.”

There was no bravado in the assertion. Had there been, Ellen would not have felt so much alarmed. It was the fearless sincerity of the remark that frightened her. She had not intended to force a crisis. She had calculated that her bullying tone would cow rather than antagonize her niece. The last result on which she had reckoned was defiance. Instantly her crafty mind recognized that she must conciliate unless she would lose this valuable helper whose toil could be secured without expense.

“Of course I don’t mean—I wouldn’t want you should go away,” she hastened to declare. “I’m just anxious for you to do—well—what’s right,” she concluded lamely.

Lucy saw her advantage.

“Now, Aunt Ellen, we may as well settle this right now,” she asserted. “I am quite 78 willing to go back to Arizona any time you say the word. I have no desire to remain where I am not wanted. But so long as I do stay here, I must be the one to decide what it is right for me to do. Remember, I am not a child. I have a conscience as well as you, and I am old enough to use it.”

Ellen did not speak. She realized that Greek had met Greek and in the combat of wills she was vanquished. Nevertheless, she was not generous enough to own defeat.

“S’pose we don’t talk about it any more,” she replied diplomatically.

She was retreating toward the door, still smarting under the knowledge of having been vanquished, when her eye fell upon the box of eggs, which, in her excitement, she had forgotten was in her hand. A malicious gleam lighted her face. A second afterward there was a violent crash in the kitchen.

“The eggs!” Lucy heard her cry. “I’ve dropped ’em.”

The eggs had indeed been dropped,—dropped with such a force that even the cooperation of all the king’s horses and all the king’s men would have been useless.

When Lucy reached her side Ellen was 79 bending over the wreck on the floor, a sly smile on her lips.

“They’re gone, every one of ’em,” she announced with feigned regret. “But it ain’t any matter. You can have all, the eggs you want anytime you want ’em. I ain’t so poverty-stricken that we can’t have eggs—even if they are sixty-six cents a dozen.”

She got a cloth and began to wipe up the unsightly mass at her feet.

“I paid sixty-seven cents for those,” Lucy said.

“Sixty-seven cents! How long have the Howes been gettin’ sixty-seven cents for their eggs, I’d like to know?” Ellen demanded, springing into an upright position.

“I couldn’t say. Jane told me that was the regular market price.”

“Why didn’t I know it?” her aunt burst out. “They must ’a’ gone up a cent, an’ I sellin’ mine at the store for sixty-six! Ain’t it just like that meachin’ Elias Barnes to do me out of a penny a dozen, the skinflint.”

In the face of the present issue, the battle between Howe and Webster was forgotten.

To be cheated out of a cent by Elias Barnes and at the same time to have her business 80 ability surpassed by that of Martin Howe! No indignity could have equaled it.

“Well, I’ll get even with Elias,” she blustered. “I’m fattening some hogs for him, an’ I’ll tuck what I’ve lost on the eggs right on to ’em. He shall pay that cent one way or ’nother ’fore he gets through. He needs to think to beat me. Sixty-seven cents, and I never knowin’ it!”

Then the words brought still another bitter possibility to the woman’s mind.

“You didn’t mention to the Howes I was gettin’ only sixty-six cents a dozen for eggs, did you?” she asked, wheeling on Lucy.

“No, I didn’t speak of price.”

“That’s good,” said her aunt, slightly mollified. “At least Martin Howe can’t go crowin’ over me—that is, unless Elias Barnes tells him. ’Twould be exactly like Elias to do it. He is just that mean.”

Although Ellen did not own it, Lucy knew that had the case been reversed, she would have been the first to crow unhesitatingly not only over Elias but over Martin. Pityingly she looked at the old woman.

“If you ever get the chance to speak to those Howe women again,” her aunt concluded, with 81 affected nonchalance, “you might tell ’em we never used their eggs. You could say I smashed ’em. I’d like Martin Howe to know it.”