The fact that she was so, largely on masculine sufferance, had never
been fully recognized by herself or others. Now, for the first time,
the stratum of feminine dependence and helplessness, which had
underlain all her energetic assertion, was made manifest, and poor
little Jerome was spurred out of his boyhood into manhood to meet
this new demand.

"What's goin' to be done?" his mother cried again. "Why don't you
speak, Jerome Edwards?"

Then Jerome drew himself up, and a new look came into his face. "I've
been thinkin' of it over," he said, soberly, "an'--I've got a plan."

"What's goin' to be done?" Ann raised herself in bed by her clutch
at her son's arm. Then she let go, and rocked herself to and fro,
hugging herself with her little lean arms, and wailing weakly.
"What's goin' to be done? Oh, oh! what's goin' to be done? Abel's
dead, he's dead, and Doctor Prescott, he holds the mortgage. We
'ain't got any money, or any home. What's goin' to be done? What's
goin' to be done? Oh, oh, oh, oh!"

Jerome grasped his mother by the shoulder and tried to force her back
upon her pillows. "Come, mother, lay down," said he.

"I won't! I won't! I never will. What's goin' to be done? What's
goin' to be done?"

"Mother, you lay right down and stop your cryin'," said Jerome; and
his mother started, and hushed, and stared at him, for his voice
sounded like his father's. The boy's wiry little hands upon her