children to come in; but as soon as they saw they were discovered they
slipped away on bare feet. It occurred to her that they were afraid of
rousing the sleeping man; and probably the woman shared their fear, for
she moved about as noiselessly and avoided going near the stove.

The rain continued to beat against the house, and in one or two places
it sent a stream through the patched panes and ran into pools on the
floor. Every now and then the kitten mewed and struggled down, and the
old woman stooped and caught it, holding it tight in her bony hands; and
once or twice the man on the barrel half woke, changed his position
and dozed again, his head falling forward on his hairy breast. As the
minutes passed, and the rain still streamed against the windows, a
loathing of the place and the people came over Charity. The sight of
the weak-minded old woman, of the cowed children, and the ragged man
sleeping off his liquor, made the setting of her own life seem a vision
of peace and plenty. She thought of the kitchen at Mr. Royall's, with
its scrubbed floor and dresser full of china, and the peculiar smell of
yeast and coffee and soft-soap that she had always hated, but that now
seemed the very symbol of household order. She saw Mr. Royall's room,
with the high-backed horsehair chair, the faded rag carpet, the row of
books on a shelf, the engraving of "The Surrender of Burgoyne" over
the stove, and the mat with a brown and white spaniel on a moss-green
border. And then her mind travelled to Miss Hatchard's house, where all
was freshness, purity and fragrance, and compared to which the red house
had always seemed so poor and plain.

"This is where I belong--this is where I belong," she kept repeating to
herself; but the words had no meaning for her. Every instinct and habit
made her a stranger among these poor swamp-people living like vermin in
their lair. With all her soul she wished she had not yielded to Harney's