The Shoulders of Atlas

She eyed with a little surprise the red spots of excitement which still remained on her cheeks. The changelessness of her elderly visage ha

bow of the apron-strings covering her slim back like a Japanese sash. She heard voices in the south room, and entered with a little cough. Horace and the new-comer were standing there talking.

in them. Rose Fletcher was so very well dressed, so very redolent of good breeding and style, that it was difficult at first to comprehend if that was all. Finally one perceived that she was a very pretty girl, of a sweet, childish type, in spite of her finished manners and her very sophisticated clothes. Sylvia at first saw nothing except the clothes, and realized nothing except the

a White," she said. The voice came like a slender, reedy whistle from between her moveless, widened lips. She stood as if encased in armor. Her

to say it. "I have never fully known, in such a case," he remarked, "whether the relationship is second cousin or first cousin once removed." It really se

s Miss Abrahama Whit

l women to which he had been used. However, his expression changed directly before the quick look of pretty, childish appeal which the girl gave him. It was Rose's first advance to all men whom she met, her little feeler put out to determine their dis

r, in this case, it was in reality the clothes which had occasioned so much formality. She immediately, after she had spoken and Henry had awkwardly murmured his assent to her opini

she approached the girl. "You look tired to death," sa

w York, you know, and the soft-coal smoke made me ill, and I couldn't eat anything, even if there had been anything to eat which wasn't all full of cinders. I shall be so very glad of a ba

Henry had, both angry and abashed. "I will fasten up yo

ble of being daunted before utterly unknown conditions. She followed Sylvia meekly up-stairs,

a house. "If the folks that the trunk belongs to can't heft it in after I've brought it up from

k and unstrapped it. Rose looked around her wit

The paper is a little mite faded, but oth

lond hair and looked in the glass. Her face appeared over the bunch of flowers, as Sylvia had thought of its doing. Rose began to laugh. "Good gracious!" she said. "For all I took such pains to wash my face

ty was fearless. "I don't kno

r," she said. "A great many people always

ed Sylvia. Rose wondered why her vo

se; I always

go through her

ose, looking vaguely at the doors. She opened one. "Oh,

tter ways for her money than putting in bath-rooms to freeze up in winter and run up plumbers' bills. There ain't any bath-room, but there's plen

ashing water over her face. She had taken off her blue travelling-gown and flung it in a heap over a chair. Sylvia straightened it out carefully, noting with a little awe the rustle of its silk linings; then she hung it in the closet. "I'll hang it here, where

eless with my things. You see, I have always been so dependent upon my maid to stra

she still remained rigidly prim, with her stiff apron-strings standing out at right angles. She looked at th

ver a hundr

gh now-as always, lately-a vague uneasiness lurked in her eyes. Rose, regarding her, thought, with a simple shrewdness which was inborn, that her new cous

ed, and we never had any words, but I didn't see much of her. She kept herself to herself, especially of late years. Of course, I thought enough of her

ose. "I suppose you feel sometime

is the matter? Are you ill?" she cried, running to h

ame color unless they're painted." She gave her head a shake as if to set herself right, and turned

ative of hers, and who lived in a really grand old house, and was presumably well-to-do, an

e," she said, hesitatingly. "Marie alw

t her to unpacking your trunk," said S

ton and her sister, Miss Pamela Mack, did not know whether I ought to put on mourning or not for Cousin Eliza, but they said it would be only proper for me to wear black to the funeral.

said she. "You can live here all the rest of your life, as far as that is c

"Thank you, you are very kind," she said, feebly. She had a slight sensation of fear at su

e articles from the trunk, "and I want you to feel at home here-just as if you had a right here." The

fluffy white gown, which trailed over her lean arm to the floor. "That is a tea-gown; I think I w

E

al here in East W

"we ain't formal. So y

think

wn on the bed, and tur

died," said Rose. She sat before the white dressing-table watching Sylvia, and the lovely

w something

arriage, and we never saw her nor heard of her. Wasn't it strange," she went o

e you got money?" said she

ince a short time after. But we were very poor, I think, after papa died. I think we must have been. I was only a little girl when mamma died, but I seem to remember living in a very little, shabby place in New York-very little and shabby-and I seem to remember a great deal of noise. Sometimes I wonder if we could have lived beside the elevated road. It does not seem possible that we could have been as poor as th

Sylvia. "Don't yo

ember something terrible and never quite do. Oh, I hope I

stepped close to the girl and pulled the fair head to her lean shoulder. "Don't; you mustn't take o

horribly afraid that I shall try in spite of me. Mrs. Wilton and Miss Pamela don't know anything about it. I never said anything about it to them. I did once to Mr

overpowering delight seized her. "Come, now," she said, "don't you cry another minute. You get up and lay your

n the bureau drawers, and under Sylvia's directions hung up her gown

if I could remember back of that the dreadful thing would come to me." S

t is

emember the nurses and the little white beds. That was not dreadful at all

it another minute,"

I won't, r

ang that heavy coat over that lace

and Miss Pamela, and I went to school, and I went abroad, and I always had plenty, and never any trouble, except once in a while being afraid I should remember something dreadful. Poor Cousin Eliza Farrel taught school all the time. I never sa

said Sylvia, indicating the fluffy

head a lace-trimmed petticoat, and fastened it, and then the tea-gown. The older woman dressed the girl with exactly the same sensations that she might have ex

d silk, looked into Sylvia's face for the admiration which she felt sure of se

ere puffs of snowy lace, streaming with narrow ribbons, reaching to t

his tea-gown came home only

m instead of the top, and a good deal

id Rose, meekly. Again sophistication was a

els," said Sylvia. "Mrs. Greenaway get

e made the sleeves this way unle

o get the best." Sylvia felt as if she were chiding her own daughter. She spoke sternly, but

e admonished. "I swept the stairs this morning, but the dust

ain odd pleasure. New England blood was in her veins. It was something new and pr

looked at her with pleased interest, but it did not occur to him to rise. Horace always rose when Sylvia enter

t he smiled. As for Horace, he felt dazzled. He had scarcely realized how pretty Rose was under the dark-blue mist of her veil. He placed a chair for her, and began talking about the journey and the weather w

h, what is this?

She turned upon him, then upon Henry. Her f

of you tell me she was murdered. I loved her, although I had not seen her for years, because I

f on a chair, and

like a distressed child. "I did love her, poor Co