"Poverty," says Béranger, "is always superstitious." So indeed is human
extremity of any sort. Julia's healthy constitution had resisted the
threatened illness, the feverishness had gone with the headache. She
felt now only one thing: she must have a friend. But the hard piousness
of Cynthy Ann's face had never attracted her sympathy. It had always
seemed to her that Cynthy disapproved of her affection quite as much as
her mother did. Cynthy's face had indeed a chronic air of disapproval. A
nervous young minister said that he never had any "liberty" when sister
Cynthy Ann was in his congregation. She seemed averse to all he said.

But now Julia felt that there was just one chance of getting advice and
help. Had she not in her dream seen Cynthy Ann with a broom? She would
ask help from Cynthy Ann. There must be a heart under her rind.

But to get to her. Her mother's affectionate vigilance never left her
alone with Cynthy. Perhaps it was this very precaution that had
suggested Cynthy Ann to her as a possible ally. She must contrive to
have a talk with her somehow. But how? There was one way. Black-eyed
people do not delay. Bight or wrong, Julia acted with sharp decision.
Before she had any very definite view of her plan, she had arisen and
slipped on a calico dress. But there was one obstacle. Mr. Humphreys
kept late hours, and he might be on the front-porch. She might meet him
in the hall, and this seemed worse to her than would the chance of
meeting a tribe of Indians. She listened and looked out of her window;
but she could not be sure; she would run the risk. With silent feet and
loud-beating heart she went down the hall to the back upper porch, for
in that day porches were built at the back and front of houses, above
and below. Once on the back-porch she turned to the right and stood by
Cynthy Ann's door. But a new fear took possession of her. If Cynthy Ann