Helen of the Old House

hild--on the porch. Come!" As she passed swiftly through the house and appeared in the porch doorway, he added, "This is a happy surprise, indeed. I thought you

which comes unearned from the industries of life--that wealth for which no service is rendered--for which no equivalent in human strength, mental or physical, is returned. Are not the children of such conditions being educated in lawlessness when the influence of their money so often permits them to break our laws with impunity? Are they not a menace to our government when they coerce and bribe our public servants to enact laws and enforce measures that are for the advantage of a few favored ones and against the welfare of our people as a whole? Are they not a menace to society when they would limit the meaning of the very word to their own select circles and cliques? Are they not a menace to our homes by the standards of morals that too often govern their daily living? For that hatred of class taught the Bobbies and Maggies of the Flats, Helen, these other children are taught an intolerance and contempt for everything that is not of their class--an intolerance and contempt that breed class hatred as surely as blow flies breed maggots."For some time the silence was broken only by the dull, droning voice of the Mill. They listened as they would have listened to the first low moaning of the wind that might rise later into a destructive storm.The Interpreter spoke again. "Helen, this nation cannot tolerate one standard of citizenship for one class and a totally different standard for another. Whatever is right for the children of the hill, yonder, is right for the children of the Flats, down there."Helen asked, abruptly, "Is there any truth in all this talk about coming trouble with the labor unions?"The man in the wheel chair did not answer immediately. Then he replied, gravely, with another question, "And who is it that says there is going to be trouble again, Helen?""John says everybody is expecting it. And Mr. McIver is so sure that he is already preparing for it at his factory. _He_ says it will be the worst industrial war that Millsburgh has ever experienced--that it must be a fight to the finish this time--that nothing but starvation will bring the working classes to their senses.""Yes," agreed the Interpreter, thoughtfully, "McIver would say just that. And many of our labor agitators would declare, in exactly the same spirit, that nothing but the final and absolute downfall of the employer class can ever end the struggle. I wonder what little Bobby and Maggie Whaley and their mother would say if they could have their way about it, Helen?"Helen Ward's face flushed as she said in a low, deliberate voice, "Father agrees with Mr. McIver--you know how bitter he is against the unions?""Yes, I know.""But John says that Mr. McIver, with his talk of force and of starving helpless women and children, is as bad as this man Jake Vodell who has come to Millsburgh to organize a strike. It is really brother's attitude toward the workmen and their unions and his disagreement with Mr. McIver's views that make father as--as he is."The Interpreter's voice was gentle as he asked, "Your father is not worse, is he, Helen? I have heard nothing.""Oh, no," she returned, quickly. "That is--"She hesitated, then continued, with careful exactness, "For a time he even seemed much better. When I went away he was really almost like his old self. But this labor situation and John's not seeing things exactly as he does worries him. The doctors all agree, you know, that father must give up everything in the nature of business and have absolute mental rest; but he insists that in the face of this expected trouble with the workmen he dares not trust the management of the Mill wholly to John, because of what he calls brother's wild and impracticable ideas. Everybody knows how father has given his life to building up the Mill. And now, he--he--It is terrible the way he is about things. Poor mother is almost beside herself." The young woman's eyes filled and her lips trembled.The man in the wheel chair turned to the unfinished basket on the table beside him and handled his work aimlessly, as if in sorrow that he had no word of comfort for her.When Adam Ward's daughter spoke again there was a curious note of defiance in her voice, but her eyes, when the Interpreter turned to look at her, were fixed upon her old friend with an expression of painful anxiety and fear. "Of course his condition is all due to his years of hard work and to the mental and nervous strain of his business. It--it couldn't be anything else, could it?"The Interpreter, who seemed to be watching the intricate and constantly changing forms that the columns of smoke from the tall stacks were shaping, apparently did not hear."Don't--don't you think it is all because of his worry over the Mill?""Yes, Helen," the Interpreter answered, at last, "I am sure your father's trouble all comes from the Mill."For a while she did not speak, but sat looking wistfully toward the clump of trees that shaded her birthplace and the white cottage where Peter Martin lived with Charlie and Mary.Then she said, musingly, "How happy we all were in the old house, when father worked in the Mill with you and Uncle Pete, and you used to come for Sunday dinner with us. Do you know, sometimes"--she hesitated as if making a confession of which she was a little ashamed--"sometimes--that is, since brother came home from France, I--I almost hate it. I think I feel just as mother does, only neither of us dares admit it--scarcely even to ourselves.""You almost hate what, Helen?""Oh, everything--the way we live, the people we know, the stupid things I am expected to do. It all seems so useless--so futile--so--so--such a waste of time."The Interpreter was studying her with kindly interest."I never felt this way before brother went away. And during the war everybody was so much excited and interested, helping in every way he or she could. But now--now that it is over and John is safely home again, I can't seem to get back into the old ways at all. Life seems to have flattened out into a dull, monotonous round of nothing that really matters."The Interpreter spoke, thoughtfully, "Many people, I find, feel that way these days, Helen.""As for brother," she continued, "he is so changed that I simply can't understand him at all. He is like a different man--just grinds away in that dirty old Mill day after day, as if he were nothing more than a common laborer who had to work or starve. In fact," she finished with an air of triumph, "that is exactly what he says he is--simply a laborer like--like Charlie Martin and the rest of them."The Interpreter smiled."It was all very well for John and Charlie Martin to be buddies, as they call it, during the war," she went on. "It was differen