OUTCASTS


What particularly irritated Maurice Oakley was that Berry should to the
very last keep up his claim of innocence. He reiterated it to the very
moment that the train which was bearing him away pulled out of the
station. There had seldom been seen such an example of criminal
hardihood, and Oakley was hardened thereby to greater severity in
dealing with the convict's wife. He began to urge her more strongly to
move, and she, dispirited and humiliated by what had come to her, looked
vainly about for the way to satisfy his demands. With her natural
protector gone, she felt more weak and helpless than she had thought it
possible to feel. It was hard enough to face the world. But to have to
ask something of it was almost more than she could bear.

With the conviction of her husband the last five hundred dollars had
been confiscated as belonging to the stolen money, but their former
deposit remained untouched. With this she had the means at her disposal
to tide over their present days of misfortune. It was not money she
lacked, but confidence. Some inkling of the world's attitude towards
her, guiltless though she was, reached her and made her afraid.

Her desperation, however, would not let her give way to fear, so she set
forth to look for another house. Joe and Kit saw her go as if she were
starting on an expedition into a strange country. In all their lives
they had known no home save the little cottage in Oakley's yard. Here
they had toddled as babies and played as children and been happy and
care-free. There had been times when they had complained and wanted a
home off by themselves, like others whom they knew. They had not
failed, either, to draw unpleasant comparisons between their mode of