It is not until a great crisis is past that one comprehends with any clearness of vision the multitudinous events that whirl about the one supreme fact. Stunned by the first shock, one wakes to learn that close on the heels of disaster come the consequences—pell-mell, helter-skelter, pushing, crowding with a grim insistence from which there is no escape. It was small wonder, then, that to the Dale girls the world seemed topsy-turvy.

A change being inevitable, their one desire was to get it over quickly, the first of October, therefore, saw them moved into new quarters. The arrangements had been made by Dr. Ware, who effected a compromise with the girls—he offering them a vacant apartment in a house he owned, they gladly accepting this home if he would allow them to pay rent when they became successful wage-earners. The good Doctor sighed and consented; he recognized there was no thwarting their earnest purpose. In the first discussion of plans, he had suggested a little house in the suburbs; but Hester, with her practical nature fast developing, had said that to do business they must be within reach of people—in the midst of things. She did not quite know how she knew this—perhaps it was more that she felt it instinctively; but it met with Dr. Ware’s approval and had great weight with Julie, who secretly longed for the country, but put aside all personal inclination and voted with her sister. The result was a flat in a quiet, unpretentious neighborhood, which yet took on a semblance of gentility from its proximity to Crana Street.

By methods known only to himself, Dr. Ware saved furniture enough to make the place comfortable, while Bridget, who assumed mysterious airs for days before their departure, saw to it that there was no lack of household necessities. Bridget was no small factor in those days. She came to the front with tremendous energy, backed up her young mistresses in all their plans, and vowed she would never leave them. So the little family held together, which was the main thing, and the girls settled themselves in the new quarters with brave spirits—was not this, after all, the real meaning of “making a home for Dad”?

All the choicest things were brought to the furnishing of his room; the gayest pictures to relieve the tedium of the weary hours, his best loved books near at hand, though he could no longer read or even reach out his hand to touch them. In the window-sill Julie had set up a miniature conservatory of potted plants that promised to bloom gayly, for down upon them poured the morning sun, filling the room with golden light. This was their resting-place in the new life—their father the center about whom they gathered in every spare moment—the room a little shrine from which in the midst of their attendance upon him many a silent prayer for strength and courage went up to God.

The other sleeping-rooms were bedrooms by courtesy—mere closets, one of which was given to Bridget and in the other the girls managed to squeeze a double bed. Hester suggested that berths would be much more convenient, and only the lack of money prevented her having that sort of sleeping arrangement constructed.

“Julie!” she exclaimed, in the first days of squeezing themselves in, “it is something like living in the car again, isn’t it? only it is so—so different. I believe I’ll call the flat ‘The Hustle’—only instead of its hustling like the car, we’ll be the ones. Oh, Julie dear, to think of never racing around the country like that again!”

“Don’t Hester; I can’t bear to think of it.” In spite of her good resolutions Julie’s courage sometimes failed her.

A few days later Hester came into the kitchen one morning, her arms full of paper bags strongly suggestive of the corner grocery. “There!” she cried, “I’ve invested my last dollar in things for the cake.”

“Is it to-day you are going to see Miss Ware?” Julie asked.

“Yes, if the cake comes out all right. Roll up your sleeve, old girl, and we’ll begin.” Hester suited the action to the words by weighing the ingredients and turning the butter into a bowl. But ah! how hard it was to put her pretty hand into it—how greasy the butter felt and how sandy the sugar, and how unpleasant the general stickiness! But she worked it through her fingers energetically, while Julie beat the eggs.

“It is going to be death on our hands, my dear,” remarked Hester, picking up a knife with which she scraped the dough from her fingers.

“I wish you would always let me do that part, Hester. I know how you will feel it to hurt your hands.”

“Well, as if I’d be likely to! No one part is worse than another. We’ll get used to it after a while, though I know our hands will spread out to twice their natural size.”

“Perhaps even if they do get big and not quite so fine as they are now, perhaps we won’t mind, Hester, if we just think of it as scars in the battle, you know. Don’t you know how Daddy has often talked of the honorable scars in the battle of life? We’re just finding out what that means, old girl.”

“Well, if you haven’t a most blessed faculty for putting a comfortable construction on everything!” Hester emphasized her words by a last vigorous beat of the dough and held out the spoon to her sister. “Just taste this, will you, Julie? I think it’s fine.”

“Umph, it is,” agreed Julie, who had disdained the spoon, and dabbed her finger in the mixture after the manner of cooks. “But, my dear, if we create a demand for cake like that which requires only the whites of eggs, what shall we do with the yolks? Eat them, I suppose,” making up a wry face.

“They are better than nothing and I do not see chickens hopping in the window, do you?”

“No,” reluctantly. “We have fifteen dollars in the house,” she announced solemnly. “How long do you suppose we can live on that?”

“I am sure I don’t know, Julie. We must learn to eat less, and that is no joke. I’ll tell you what, one of the hardest things is learning to do without what has always seemed absolutely necessary.” There was a husky sound in Hester’s voice which Julie did not like to hear.

“No matter, dear, we are young and strong, and we will accomplish something before we get through. Why, if you stop to think of it, nearly every one who has made a success of life has started in the smallest kind of way.”

Hester nodded.

“Did you say you were going to see Miss Ware to-day?”

“Yes, I think I had better take her this loaf if it bakes properly. Will you come with me, Julie?”

“No, dear, I think you will manage better alone, though I’ll go of course, if you want me.”

“No, I had rather go alone,” said Hester.

But no expedition to Miss Ware’s took place that day, for the cake was spoiled in the baking and four succeeding attempts shared the same tragic fate. Toward night, when the failures of the day had reduced them to the verge of despondency, Dr. Ware came in and carried them off for a long drive which wonderfully freshened up their spirits. On the way home he asked their assistance in sending out a thousand circulars in regard to some medical matters, telling them it would be a tremendous help to him if they would write them. They acquiesced delightedly and accordingly that evening a huge bundle of stationery was left at their door. Inside, stuck in a package of envelopes, was a slip on which was written: “Here’s the paper and the form to be copied. Don’t keep at this too persistently, little girls, or you’ll bring down the wrath of your faithful friend, Philip Ware.”

More than glad to have an opportunity of being of use to the Doctor, the girls set to work early the next morning writing industriously. Julie, after a few smirched and blotted copies, got well under way; she had considerable precision in her character, which made a task like this simple. But Hester during the first day or two spoiled so many sheets that she viewed her rapidly filling waste-basket with dismay. Finally, in supreme disgust she threw down her pen.

“I believe I could build a house easier!” was her impatient exclamation. “Who ever saw such daubs as I’m making!”

Julie looked up and smiled. Her wrist ached, and she shook her hand to limber the muscles. “If you did not dig your pen in the ink with such a high-tragedy, Scott-Siddons air, maybe you’d get on better,” she suggested.

“High-tragedy fiddlesticks! I like a lot of ink. I am sure you’re a sight,” she commented, with sisterly frankness; “all doubled up and your forehead screwed into knots. How many have you done?”

“I don’t know; there they are,” pointing to a box-cover piled high.

Hester surveyed them with lofty scorn. “Mercy! That is nothing! I’ve done heaps!”

“Where are they, you airy young person?”

“In the waste-basket, mostly.”

“Go to work, you ridiculous infant, or you will be stuck to that chair the rest of your natural days.”

When Dr. Ware attempted to pay them for the work they remonstrated, telling him in the most convincing language at their command that it was a pleasure to feel they could do even so small a thing for him. To this he refused to agree, finally persuading them to take the money if on no other ground than to convince him of their business principles; while he refrained from mentioning that he had himself deviated somewhat from business methods when he ordered the circulars written instead of printed in the usual way.

A week later the almond cake for Miss Ware was baked successfully and an admiring group stood about the kitchen table taking a last look at it before Hester did it up in a box preparatory to setting forth.

“Faith, it’s a beauty,” cried Bridget, arms akimbo. “Any lady’d be proud to eat it. Shure it’s your mother’s own fingers ye’ve got, the both of yez. Ther’ warn’t nothin’ she couldn’t make when she put her hand to it, before she got so ailin’, an’ the Major, God bless him, got so well off she didn’t have ter.”

“Poor, dear mamma!” said Julie, wistfully. “I only remember her ill and not able to bear us noisy children about.”

“Sufferin’ made her a changed woman, the Saints preserve her! But I seen the day, Miss Julie, when she slaved for the Major before you was born an’ there warn’t nobody could beat her at anythin’. It looks like her knack was croppin’ out in yez, shure as my name’s Bridget Maloney.”

“Perhaps it is, Bridget,” said Hester, who had heard this conversation from the next room, where she was putting on her coat and hat. “We have often heard Daddy tell people mamma was a practical genius, that would mean nimble fingers, wouldn’t it? Maybe she has left them to us as a legacy.”

“I’m not after understandin’ your words exactly, dearie, but the meanin’s clear an’ it’s right yez are.”

As Hester picked up the box, Peter Snooks sprang down from the window-sill jumping wildly about, the sight of her hat being conclusive evidence to him that she was going out.

“Poor little Snooks, not this time,” the girl said, stooping to pat him. “I am going in the car to-day.”

His stump of a tail drooped dejectedly as he looked at her with big reproachful eyes.

“It does seem mean not to take him, doesn’t it, Julie?—but it is not worth while, for it is so stormy I thought I had better ride both ways.” It was only dire extremity that permitted the extravagance of car-fares these days.

“Of course you must ride,” said Julie. “Peter Snooks,” to the still hopeful little fellow, “you must not tease. Go find your ball and we’ll have a play.”

He trotted off and Hester picked up the box and started.

“Tell Miss Ware that is only a hundredth part of the nice things you can make, you clever girl,” Julie called after her.

“An’ good luck to you, dearie,” from Bridget.

The wind and rain blew about Hester unpleasantly when she reached the street, but a car soon overtook her and afforded her a welcome shelter from the storm. She found all the seats occupied, but some of the passengers moved up to make room for her, and being a trifle tired from the nervousness of the cake-making, she thankfully squeezed into the bit of space allotted her, and laid the box in her lap.

Her thoughts as the car sped along were not of the most cheerful, for she dreaded this visit to Miss Ware. That individual, who kept house for her brother, had expressed herself in terms of strong disapproval of the girls when he had told her their plans. She considered cooking greatly beneath them and would have thoroughly agreed with the views of their Cousin Nancy in Virginia, had she known that person. As it was, she thought her brother should interest himself in finding suitable positions for them, and she refused to recognize the fact that these were not to be had for the asking. “There were plenty of ladylike things girls could do,” she said, but did not give herself the trouble to specify.

To the girls themselves she had talked at some length, endeavoring to explain to them that they were laying out for themselves a path of social ostracism by their extraordinary choice of work, never doubting that this argument alone would convince them. But when Julie gently put it aside with the assurance that she and Hester were sufficient to themselves if the world chose to look askance at them; and when Hester flushed angrily, and said the people whose friendship was worth anything would not fail them, Miss Ware shrugged her shoulders and gave them up as social heretics. She was not, however, allowed to wash her hands of them, for her brother sang their praises perpetually. She therefore forced herself to take a negative interest in them which carried her so far as to order from them a loaf of cake.

Hester, gazing abstractedly out of the car window, felt it a momentous errand on which she was going that day; it involved so much. If the cake met with the critical approval of Miss Ware she intended to ask her to solicit orders for it. It would not be easy to approach her on this subject, but she should do it—oh! yes, she did not intend to be frightened out of her purpose. A curious little ache came into her heart as she braced herself for the coming ordeal. It was all so new and so strange, to be put in the position of asking favors—to be looked down upon from frigid heights—she and Julie, whose world hitherto had been all sunshine and approval. For a second something came between her and the window, blurring her vision. Then she brought herself up with a sharp mental rebuke for allowing her thoughts for one moment to revert to the past, and forced herself to look down with satisfaction on the neatly wrapped box she was carrying.

By this time the car had become crowded, and directly in front of Hester stood a woman of amazing breadth, clinging in a limp, swaying fashion to the strap. Just as the girl observed her and was wondering if she could squeeze into her seat should she offer it to her, the car jerked round a corner, the stout woman screamed and landed with a thud on the box in Hester’s lap!