And there the matter dropped, and Mrs. Crawford struggled on as best she
could, sometimes going out to do plain sewing, sometimes taking it home,
sometimes going to people's houses to superintend when they had company,
and sometimes selling fruit and flowers from the garden attached to the
cottage. But whatever she did, she was always the same quiet, lady-like
woman, who commanded the respect of all, and who, poor as she was, was
held in high esteem by the better class in Shannondale. Grace Atherton's
carriage and that of Edith St. Claire stood oftener before her door
than that at Tracy Park; and though the ladies came mostly on business,
they found themselves lingering after the business was over to talk with
one who, in everything save money, was their equal.
Harold was his grandmother's idol. For him she toiled and worked,
feeling more than repaid for all she did by his love and devotion to
her. And Harold was a noble little fellow, full of manly instincts, and
always ready to deny himself for the sake of others. That he and his
grandmother were poor he knew, but he had never felt the effects of
their poverty, save when Tom Tracy had jeered at him for it, and called
him a pauper. There had been one square fight between the two boys, in
which Harold had been the victor, with only a torn jacket, while Tom's
eye had been black for a week, and Mrs.
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