"poor and content is rich and rich enough, but poor and genteel is—pardon slang—most tough!" remarked rob, looking over her shoulder as she knelt before the oven, and making a wry face at wythie, unconscious of the streak of soot on her chin.

"if you could be but one, which would you rather be, poor or genteel, rob?" laughed her mother. but there was little laughter in the eyes under a brow upon which increasing anxiety was daily making its record.

"i don't know, mardy; i'm not sure i could tell them apart. i'm like the ladies in cranford, and have always known them together, but vulgarity would have its consolations. we shall be vulgarly rich when the bricquette machine is in the market," said rob.

"and in the meantime?" hinted wythie.

"ah, in the meantime!" rob took her bread[133] from the oven and pulled herself on her feet by the aid of the lid-lifter, conveniently extending its handle from the back lid of the stove. mother and daughters looked sadly through the open door into the dining-room and sighed. the sunshine struck the mahogany tea-table, with the clover-leaf corners of its dropped leaf; on the old mahogany sideboard, with its rounded ends and slender, straight legs and glass knob-handles, and on the old pewter tankards and platters, and the blue and white china standing upon it.

the greys' troubles had reached a crisis; there was immediate and imperative need of ready money, and aunt azraella had been over on the preceding night "to talk common-sense" to her kindred-in-law.

"it's ridiculous," that spartan woman had said, "for people situated as you are to have so much money tied up in old furniture. here are these things—sideboard, table, chairs, pewter, old china; there are those old bureaus, the high-boy, the tester-bed, the bookcases, the work-tables—you have two—the old desk, not to mention the various chairs and tables scattered through the house. even a dealer would give you a great deal for them, though private sale is[134] better. but you cling to them, and won't part with them either way!"

"they are not only the delight of our eyes, azraella; they are heirlooms from both sides. some of them have been in the little grey house for more than a hundred years. how could we part with them?" mrs. grey gently replied.

"necessity knows no law," aunt azraella answered, in one of those convenient pellets of wisdom always ready compounded for infallible persons to administer to the weak-minded. "i'll tell you what i will do, mary. i will take the things off your hands at a fair appraisal, and give you cash down."

mrs. grey did not thank her; she had long known that mrs. winslow coveted the beautiful and venerable treasures of the little grey house, and longed to transfer them to her more pretentious, black-walnut-infested house on the hill. so mrs. grey did not feign gratitude for her offer; indeed, it inspired her with a perfectly natural desire to hold her splendid old mahogany at any cost. she said, firmly: "i shall not part with these things while we can exist without doing so, azraella," and mrs. winslow had departed in highly disgusted dudgeon.

but now, regarding their treasures in the clear[135] morning light, and without aunt azraella, the greys wondered if their decision had been wrong, and it was their duty to give up those precious belongings which seemed more really kin to them than many of the animate connections transmitted to them through dead-and-gone ancestors. two alternatives stared them in the face: to sell the furniture, or mortgage the little grey house. thus far the dear little old home had been as free from burden as in its first building, when a grey had hewn its walls from the forest with his own hands, and dug its cellar, and piled its stone foundations from the rocks of its own meadows, helped only by the friendly hands of other pioneers. it was not possible to regard a mortgage upon it calmly; for sentiment's sake in the first place, and then because its interest would be a continual burden long after the ready money it had given them would have been changed into the necessities of life.

"still, mardy," rob began, speaking out of the thoughts they were silently exchanging, after the fashion of people who live in loving sympathetic intimacy—"still, mardy, the mortgage could be paid off when the bricquette machine is sold, but if we gave up the furniture it would be gone forever. the mortgage is dreadful, but[136] it gives us another chance, while the sale would not. we shall need money only a little while longer, you know, if everything goes right."

"oh, rob, rob, and if everything goes wrong?" cried mrs. grey, the cry wrung from her by the sudden sharp realization that her lares and penates, her home, her husband himself, threatened to slip from her forever.

"then i will take the bricquettes' place—i am sure i am combustible enough!" cried rob, but neither her mother nor oswyth could smile.

aunt azraella came over again after dinner to renew her appeals to common-sense and for the fulfilment of her own desires. there was another conclave of elders, and wythie and rob, feeling the strain too great upon their nerves, escaped into the october sunshine. they came upon frances silsby under escort of battalion b, coming to seek them, and half-heartedly consented to a short row on the river in the boys' long-boat, which they had christened "the graces," because, they pointed out, it was equally appropriate to "the trio of owners and the most frequent and honored guests."

"you don't look cheerful to-day, you grey sisters," said basil, shipping rowlocks and oars and pushing off.

[137]

"no; even rob is downly," said bruce, coining a new adverb. "is it anything we could help?"

"not unless you are bankers," said rob, disregarding wythie's signals for silence. "what's the use, wythie? france has known us ever since we were here to be known, and these new friends are just as true ones. we're having grey days without gold—that's all."

"we could be bankers," said basil, quietly. "we have more money than we use—we big, strapping boys—and that's what makes us so sorry and ashamed when we think of girls like you being bothered."

"we said the other day we wished you would let us be your bankers—it would only be till the machine was done," added bruce, flushing. he did not say that they and frances, whose father was the wealthiest man in fayre, had vainly tried to hit upon a way of making life easier to the girls of whom they were so fond.

rob shook her head with a dubious smile, and bruce said, hastily: "oh, i know you won't! there's always just that difference between a girl's friendship and a boy's. a boy not only will share with his chum—girls do that—but he will take his share of his chum's possessions, and[138] know it does not matter which happened to have more."

"don't you think there has to be that difference, bruce?" asked wythie, in her womanly little way. "you wouldn't like to have a girl accept too much from another." wythie did not say, "from a boy friend." "since rob has said so much i will tell you that you could not be our bankers, for we need too much, and it is too serious. aunt azraella, mrs. winslow——"

"who has nothing whatever to do with soothing-sirup, nor sirup, nor soothing of any sort," interrupted rob.

"wants us to sell our dear, beautiful old china and pewter and mahogany. but we won't—we can't!" wythie finished.

"of course not; i should say not!" ejaculated silent bartlemy, the artist, with profound conviction.

"it would be like selling 'the ashes of your fathers and the temples of your gods,'" added basil.

"yes, and leave us worse off by and by, when we had used the money," added rob. "but if we don't do that we must mortgage the little grey house."

"that's bad, too," said bruce.

[139]

"it's worse than you see at first, because it means keeping up the interest, besides lessening the value of the old place," said rob. "my brethren and sister frances, i must earn money."

frances clasped the hand rob held out to her, and patted it silently. her pretty, happy face had grown distressed; she had loved rob as a superior being since she had been taken by her nurse to see rob's collection of dolls, and she fully realized how bitter it was to all the greys to put a burden upon the home which always seemed more like a member of the family than its shelter.

the rutherfords rowed on in silence awhile, then bruce squared his shoulders and threw back his head with a cheerful smile for the girls. "well, if you must mortgage, don't worry about it. everybody has a mortgage—they are as common as family cats. and when the machine is done you can pay it off again, and that will be in a short time. it really isn't worth talking about," he said, cheerfully.

rob gave him a grateful look. "that's what i say, bruce!" she cried.

"and isn't it great that your father has no more heart attacks?" added basil, desiring to contribute his underscore mark to some item of[140] cheer on the page of life the greys were at present conning.

"it's wonderful, too," said wythie, "for he works as hard as though dr. fairbairn had never warned him—but he doesn't look well."

"i think you can earn money, rob; i think i know a way for you to do it," said frances. "i've been wondering if it were possible, and i'll talk to mamma to-night—it needs her help—and then to-morrow i'll come to talk to you about it."

"so cheer up, grey sisters; this is your last pull," said basil.

"i wonder if it is," said wythie, watching the strong, steady strokes as the graces sped up the river under basil and bartlemy's rowing.

"oh, no; there's indian summer to come; we'll row lots of times this year, and all next season. i did not mean this kind of pull," smiled basil.

"i know. where are you taking us?" asked wythie; she could not bear just then to hear an allusion to another year.

"up here to a tree which we discovered yesterday, and which other little boys haven't discovered—it's full of chestnuts," said bruce.

the boat glided toward the right bank, crowned by flaming maples, and into a narrow creek, so narrow that the boys had to draw in[141] their oars and pull the graces along by the shrubs on either hand. they stopped directly under a great chestnut-tree, and bruce cried, pointing triumphantly to the branches crowded with opening burs: "there! isn't truth more chestnutty than fiction?"

"why didn't you tell us?" asked rob, reproachfully. "we could have gone back for something to put them in."

forgetting poverty for the moment in the riches provided by nature and autumn, wythie and rob climbed cheerfully over the side of the boat, and taking off their jackets began filling them with chestnuts as eagerly as if they had been squirrels dependent upon them for their winter existence. there was little time to get many of the satiny nuts, for the greys were impatient to learn the fate of the little grey house, and to console their mother, who would need consolation for whatever decision had been reached. regretfully they turned their backs on the wealth of nuts and the beautiful, peaceful spot, with its gorgeous colors, and damp, delicious odors.

bruce and bartlemy rowed down. frances was very silent, and held rob's hand fast; rob did not feel like talking, and wythie was never[142] a chatterbox, so the party came down the river very quietly, all thoughts centered on the same point—the greys' difficulties. as they drew up at the little pier which the rutherfords had built for their landing-place, basil said, breaking a long silence: "wythie and rob, i want you to give us your solemn promise that if ever you think we can be of any use or comfort, you will say so. i don't believe you understand what it has been to us to have you girls take us right into the little grey house and big grey hearts, and treat us like one of yourselves. it will be downright unkind if you shove us off now, for the first time, and don't let us have the privileges you've accustomed us to. brothers are not meant only for bright days, you know."

"we would ask you to do anything, basil; of course we would," said wythie. "there is nothing to be done now."

"but you will consider us comrades of the true sort; not the kind you like only for what you can do for them and to frolic with," persisted basil.

"'ere's our 'earts and 'ere's our 'ands," said rob, melodramatically laying her left hand on her heart and extending her right. "seriously, boys," she added, "we understand, and we'll do[143] just what you want us to. we're going to regard you as crutches—a trifle long, perhaps, but by no means to be cut off. if you were all as grey as we are, we couldn't count you greater props than we do now. we're friends for life, and for scrapes on either side—and we're more grateful than i sound. this is rather a hard time for the greys, but we've read lots of storybooks, and we know when the lovely heroines are in mortal danger there's certain rescue on the next page. so we're going to finish these paragraphs as quickly as we possibly can, and turn over to the next chapter."

she impulsively held out both hands as she ceased speaking, wrinkling up the comers of her eyes in her merry fashion, though there were tears on the lashes.

bruce seized the firm little hands, with the honorable burn on one forefinger, and the thumb-nail blackened by hammering, and shook them warmly. basil followed suit, and then all three shook hands with wythie—it was rather like a fresh treaty of allegiance before going into battle. then bartlemy locked the oars and rowlocks into the boat-house and the rutherfords and frances escorted the greys to their own gate, where they left them with a reassuring[144] pat on each arm, and wythie and rob ran into the house.

they heard voices in the parlor and paused in the hall to listen. their mother's and father's, aunt azraella's, and two strange men's voices they had just decided them to be, when prue's golden head, much dishevelled, appeared over the banisters.

"come up here, girls, come up here," she said, in a stage-whisper, gesticulating wildly. "where have you been? come; i'm half dead." prue's cheeks were tear-stained and her voice husky; oswyth and rob hastened to her.

"what has happened?" rob demanded.

prue threw her arms around wythie—her favorite sister—and dropped her golden head on her breast. "they're mortgaging the little grey house—oh dear, oh dear!" she sobbed.

wythie drew prue into her room, rob following, very pale, and shut the door.

"already?" wythie said.

"this moment," said prue, tragically. "when i came home aunt azraella was here, and still talking about our selling the furniture. then papa seemed to lose all patience, and to want to have it over with. he said: 'mr. barker told me he was ready to take the mortgage and[145] give me the money any moment i would call him over. prue, go tell him now that i am ready to mortgage the house—that i'm waiting for him. and then go fetch lawyer dinsmore. i must get it done, and stop discussing it; it takes too much nervous strain, and too much time from my work.' i looked at mardy, and she looked miserable, but she only said: 'go, prue; hurry, child.' so i went. and they've been mortgaging down there for half an hour. they ought to be done soon, i should think: how long does it take to put on a mortgage?"

"oh, i don't know, i do not know," moaned rob, throwing herself face downward on the bed. "how long does it take to get one off, you'd better ask."

prue looked hurt. "you can't care more than i do, rob grey," she said. "i've cried and cried, and i thought i'd die when i told mr. barker and mr. dinsmore to come."

oswyth had sunk into her rocking-chair, the tears raining down her white cheeks. she held out her arms to prue, who fled to them, very ready to be petted.

"poor little prue!" said wythie. "and you were all alone to bear it. poor, pretty little prudy!"

[146]

kiku, who was the most loving of little creatures, jumped up to rub his face against rob's, not minding its wetness, and making soft, cooing sounds to her as if she were a kitten and he her cat-mother. the gentle, dumb, little creature comforted rob more than spoken love could have done. she rolled over and kissed the cat between his pink-lined ears, and, seeing wythie looking so grief-stricken, characteristically began to surmount her own trouble. "now, doen't, doen't, my dear," she said, in the words of ham pegotty. "it's a blow that knocked me down for a minute, but i'm not going to lie prostrate long. we'll clear off the mortgage—patergrey, the machine, and i—in a twinkling, and the little grey house shall be greyer than ever."

wythie shook her head, and at that moment they heard the front door shut and footsteps go down the walk. and in the hall their mother was saying: "there are those poor children upstairs alone; we must go comfort them, sylvester."

there was no time to feign indifference before the door of the girls' room opened, and it was rather a dismal scene upon which mr. and mrs. grey looked as they entered.

[147]

mrs. grey took wythie and prue into a comprehensive embrace, just as they sat. "dearies, you must not grieve," she cried.

"don't look so dismal, girls," said mr. grey, cheerfully. "the little grey house has merely lent the thin grey man a thousand dollars, which he knows—doesn't think, mind you, but knows—he will soon repay. we are fortunate to get money when we need it so sorely, and we shall pay off that mortgage in a short time; isn't that true, rob, my son?"

"that is true, patergrey," responded rob, loyally and promptly.

"we're not afraid, are we, rob, my son? we know our machine is bound to succeed."

"bound to succeed, patergrey," said rob, going over to him and laying a hand on her father's shoulder as though she were really the "son" he called her.

but that night, when wythie, tired out, lay sleeping beside her, rob's dark eyes were staring into the blackness, slumber completely driven from them by the events of the day, as she thought anxious thoughts for her sixteen years, and feverishly laid fruitless plans for being useful.

and that night, because of the over-excitement[148] and the pang the decision he had reached had cost him, mr. grey had the second attack of the heart affection which threatened the greys with a greater sorrow than the burden which had just been laid upon the little grey house.