The weeks passed rapidly to the young workers, who found each day full of experiments, sometimes developing into satisfactory results and again filled with bitter discouragement. There were days when the battle for existence threatened to overweigh and submerge them; days when from morning till night their work seemed possessed by evil demons, and everything went wrong; days when despair tugged at their hearts, and the old happy life forced itself in upon their thoughts with clamorous persistence. And ah! how they felt the sorrow of their father’s helplessness, the loss of his companionship causing an ache that nothing could assuage! But through it all they fought their way, upheld by the longing to show a spirit worthy of their father’s daughters, sustained by the consciousness that by their own endeavor they were “making a home for Dad.” This was the dominant note of the new life—like a bugle-call stirring them to action!

Julie, who had been reading aloud to her father one day, suddenly went into the next room to find Hester, and exclaimed, “Thackeray says, ‘I would not curse my fortune—I’d make it!’ I think that’s great, Hester! We’ll take it for a motto.” And by that motto ever after they abided.

Mr. Dale had not awakened to any definite consciousness of his condition, as Dr. Ware had anticipated, but remained in a passive, tranquil state, taking little heed and no part in any conversation, though his face brightened perceptibly whenever any one entered the room. Much of the day he slept, but during his waking hours one of the girls was constantly with him, hovering about with a tender protective air.

Dr. Ware, who devoted all his spare time to his old friend, was a frequent and most welcome visitor. He was a man of distinguished presence, tall and well-knit, with the military bearing of a soldier and some ten years younger than Mr. Dale, although they had served in the War of the Rebellion together. Streaks of gray showed plentifully in his hair and pointed beard, throwing into greater contrast his black brows and blue-black eyes, while his face was marked with strong lines indicative of character. It was an interesting face and one that inspired immediate confidence, and in addition there was about him an indefinable charm which made itself felt both professionally and socially, so that there was not a more popular man in Radnor. This was perhaps an unusual position for a man of strong convictions, expressed fearlessly and freely on all subjects. To be thoroughly popular commonly requires an adaptable temperament not compatible with strong individuality.

He watched over “his girls” as he called them, with affectionate solicitude mingled with an admiration and respect which knew no bounds. “They are going to succeed,” he would frequently say to himself after leaving them, “every failure only makes them more determined—it’s fine to watch the growth of such spirit.” And then he would drive off on his round of visits with a preoccupied air and vague longings would steal in upon him, softening the lines about his mouth and eyes and lingering deliciously in his mind even after he had roused himself impatiently from such day-dreams.

The girls’ experiments in making mayonnaise resulted in Julie’s screwing up her courage one day and going to the leading grocery of Radnor. She asked for the proprietor and laid before him her scheme, at the same time showing him a sample of the mayonnaise. Poor Julie, who did not know what it meant to cry her wares in open market, felt very uncomfortable and flushed quite red as she talked; but she struggled to overcome her timidity and succeeded in interesting the man, who told her to leave her sample for him to try at home and gave her some valuable information about putting up such an article in the regulation form, suggesting that she follow his directions and bring in the mayonnaise again, bottled and labeled for his inspection.

Busy days those were indeed in “The Hustle,” for in addition to trying varieties of cake, the mayonnaise suggested making salads and one thing led to another with surprising rapidity.

It gradually began to be recognized in Radnor that if one wanted any delicacy in the way of fancy cooking, one should order it from “those Dale girls,” and this recognition was in no small part due to Mrs. Lennox, the President of the Sewing Class. It was she who had sent them their first order and shown a marked interest in their work which was not without its immediate effect, for people occupied in their relation to Mrs. Lennox a position similar to that of “Mary’s little lamb.” Mrs. Lennox was a beautiful woman and in the fashionable world her word was law; but society amused rather than interested her, and her keen intellect and strong individuality led her into devious paths. Above all she was a philanthropist in that broad and humanitarian sense which sees promise in all gradations of men and women.

She followed her first order to the girls with a second by mail; then a little correspondence ensued, in which she suggested their sending her any new thing they might be trying. A few weeks later she “blew over,” as she expressed it, and said in her charming way to Julie, as if she had known her intimately for years:

“My dear, are you busy enough?”

“No indeed, Mrs. Lennox, we never could be busy enough—we want to do so much.”

“So I thought.” She threw back her furs and unclasping a big bunch of violets tossed them into the girl’s lap. “You like them, don’t you? So do I. I adore violets. I am raising white ones now and I will send you over some if I may.”

“Oh, how good of you! Daddy loves them too. We always used to have flowers wherever we were and we do miss them so. I don’t see how you suspected it, Mrs. Lennox.”

“I am rather keen about human nature, my dear, and it occurs to me that even though you do cook, you may have a love and longing for the beautiful.”

Julie smiled. It was so comfortable to talk with some one who understood them. “Miss Ware would not agree with you,” she said. “She considers us lost to the finer things, beyond redemption. She dislikes us, you know, and we never go there; but she comes here sometimes and asks us all sorts of questions and wants to know about our recipes and things as if we could not comprehend any other subject. Hester calls it ‘talking shop’ and we hate it—not the work but the being excluded from other things.”

“I understand perfectly. Miss Ware is a bit, well, narrow, like most Radnor people. So you are not busy enough?” eyeing her curiously; “well then, I have a suggestion. If you want to cater for the town, send out cards.”

Julie gasped. “Business cards, you mean, soliciting orders?”

“Exactly. You do a variety of things already—think up and experiment with more until you get an imposing little list, have cards printed and send them about—at least five hundred, I should say. Radnor is a large place and cliquey—there must be numbers of persons unknown to me who have never heard of you girls, yet would be likely to give you their custom. If my name on the cards by way of indorsement would be of any advantage, you are more than welcome to use it.”

“Oh! thank you, of course it would be a great advantage, Mrs. Lennox, for no one knows us at all, you see. I’m—I’m dazed by your idea—it seems so pretentious—so bold to advertise ourselves. I don’t believe we should ever have thought of it, but it is the thing to do.”

“Decidedly. I know something about business and you have one of the most necessary qualifications for success—indefatigable zeal—and I want to push you along. But you must not overtax your strength. I suppose you have heard that before, eh, Miss Dale?” She laughed musically. “No doubt kindly disposed persons come here to leave orders and tell you not to work too hard.”

“Yes, they do,” Julie earnestly replied. “I wish they would not. Just as if we did not have to work with all our might and main, and it is not easy—always.”

“Easy! I should think not!” Mrs. Lennox rose and smiled into Julie’s grave eyes as she held out her hand to say good-by. “I am going now, but I want to come again and meet your sister too. May I? I should so like to know you and be your friend.”

Julie impulsively kissed her. “It is so good to find some one who wants to know us—in spite of everything,” she faltered.

“It is because of everything, my dear,” giving the girl an impetuous little hug. Which demonstration would greatly have astonished the smart set of Radnor to whom this side of their leader was unknown and unsuspected.

It was about this time that the girls got the mayonnaise put up to their satisfaction, for innumerable perplexities had arisen in the matter of suitable bottles, corks and labels. When finally Julie had submitted the result to the grocer and that all-powerful man had ordered a dozen bottles to sell on commission, the girls felt that they were working to some purpose, and a glow akin to honest pride surged in their hearts. But the sensation swelled to overwhelming proportions when late one afternoon Julie, passing the store, spied in the great show-window a group of their bottles standing boldly alongside the firm’s best fancy articles. She gasped, scarcely daring to look at them, and rushed home to tell Hester.

But when she got home she did not tell Hester. Instead she said: “Put on your things and come out before it grows dark—the air will do you good.”

“Can’t,” said Hester, deep in a book, “I’m too tired to move.”

“I want to show you something.”

“Where?” reading on.

“In a shop window.”

“Julie Dale, what’s the matter?” she exclaimed, dropping her book. “I’m sure you’ve got a crazy look about you—your hat’s on crooked!”

“I don’t care, I think you would want to throw your hat in the air if you had seen it!”

“Seen what? A shop window? I hate them—they’re just full of tantalizing things one wants and can’t have!”

“Well, this isn’t—or perhaps it is—I am sure I don’t know, but I came way back after you and oh! do come.”

“You are responsible for great expectations,” said Hester, reluctantly getting up from the bed. “I call it a most unchristian act to rout me out like this.”

But she took another view of it when she found herself out in the brisk wintry air, and she caught some of the exhilaration of her sister’s gay spirits as they went along, Peter Snooks racing wildly about them.

When they approached the window of the grocery Julie’s heart beat rapidly in anticipation of Hester’s surprise. As they reached it she suddenly pulled her arm and led her close to the window. “Look!” she said excitedly but in a low voice, for many persons were passing and some few stood near them.

There it was, the mayonnaise into which they had put their best endeavor, standing in so conspicuous a place that it could not fail to attract the attention of the passers-by.

“New thing, that mayonnaise, isn’t it?” they heard a man say to his companion, “well put up—let’s go in and look at it.”

Hester gazed speechless into the window, her eyes nearly bulging out of her head.

“Would you ever have believed it!” whispered Julie, poking her. “Let’s wait,” as she saw a clerk lean into the window and take down a bottle, “let’s wait and see if those people buy it.”

“No we won’t,” said Hester, finding her voice at last. She clutched her sister’s arm convulsively. “We’ll go straight home before I scream with joy right here on the corner.”

“You don’t like shop windows, do you?” said Julie with a happy laugh.

In the exuberance of their spirits and with a desire to impart the good news to their neighbors, whom they now counted as friends, the girls stopped at the Grahame’s on their way upstairs.

“Jack,” exclaimed Hester the impetuous, “Jack, what do you suppose has happened?”

“By the look of you I should say you’d inherited a fortune.”

“Pouf!” disdainfully, “that is commonplace.” She clapped her hands together while her eyes danced merrily. “Try again, Jack.”

“May I have a guess, Miss Dale?” said a voice that made the girl start, while a long, lazy form emerged from the corner.

Hester’s manner changed instantly, and her eyes sought Jack’s questioningly, as if she were asking some explanation. Then she turned to the man who stood quietly watching her.

“How do you do, Mr. Landor?” she said with a stiff little formality that was unlike Hester, “I did not know you and Jack were friends.”

“May I be presented?” asked Julie, coming forward; “I seem to be quite out of it.”

Jack from his chair in his capacity of host performed the introduction.

“Will you let me guess?” said the man, addressing Julie as if there had been no interruption. “Your sister refuses to answer me.”

“You certainly will not let him guess,” promptly replied Hester. “Curiosity is a shockingly reprehensible trait and besides,” with a little toss of her head, “our affairs cannot possibly be of interest to Mr. Landor.”

The man flushed and picked up his hat. “I am off, old fellow,” he said to Jack. “I’ll be in again before a great while.”

“Oh, don’t let us drive you away, please, Mr. Landor,” protested Julie, who was secretly marveling over that cool little sarcastic voice which she had scarcely recognized as Hester’s. “We had only a moment to stop and we can come down again any time; we know what a great pleasure it is to Jack to have visitors, don’t we, Hester?”

Julie had her hand on the door.

“You will do what she asks, I am sure, Mr. Landor,” said Hester. It did not escape him that she shifted the responsibility to her sister. “Julie always arranges things perfectly. We really should be at home this very minute.” And waving her hand at the astonished Jack, she followed in the wake of her sister.

“Hester,” exclaimed Julie, in the seclusion of their own apartment, “what made you so rude to Mr. Landor? I never heard you speak like that to any one before.”

“Oh! Julie,” cried the younger girl, flinging herself down in a chair, “I’ve the most disgusting, beastly temper!”

“You’ve nothing of the sort!” denied her sister indignantly.

“I have. You don’t know anything about it, it’s—it’s just developing. I get all hot inside; sometimes it breaks out the way it did at Miss Ware’s and to-day it made me nasty and sarcastic. I’ve always hated sarcastic people!”

“What has Mr. Landor done, dear, to make you dislike him so? I thought he seemed most charming and agreeable.”

“Did you?” indifferently, leaning back in her chair. Suddenly she sat bolt upright and exclaimed vehemently, “Julie Dale, if you dare to take to singing his praises as Dr. Ware does I’ll—I’ll—well, I don’t know what I’ll do! I hate him, with his smiling, masterful air and his prying into affairs which are none of his business.” (This seemed rather strong language, but Julie did not interrupt her.) “He is an idle society man and we are hard-working girls. He has nothing in common with us whatever. We’ve no use for men, anyway—they don’t belong to the sort of life we live, they—they don’t fit into our scheme of things. Rather neat, that last phrase, eh, Julie? Read it in a book.” As usual, Hester’s outburst ended in a laugh.

“Are you twenty years old,” said Julie stooping down to kiss the flushed face, “or two hundred, Hester?”

“I’m an end-of-the-century idiot, that’s what I am!” she replied, pulling Julie over to give her a suffocating hug. Then in that irrelevant fashion so characteristic of her she threw back her head and sniffed the air suspiciously.

“Julie!”

But Julie had slipped away.

Hester chased her into the little dining-room. “Julie Dale! do I smell steak?” Hester’s nostrils fairly quivered.

“You do. I plunged into that wild extravagance on the strength of the mayonnaise, and I don’t care what you say!”

“Say!” gasped Hester as Bridget brought in this unheard of luxury, “I only want to eat!”