Jerome stood with his shoulders back, and seemed to look down at her
from his superior height of courageous spirit, though she was as tall
as he.

"She's come to herself," said Jerome.

"She wasn't ever like this before."

"Yes, she was--inside. She ain't anything but a woman. She's come to
herself."

Elmira began to sob nervously, still holding to her brother's jacket,
not trying to hide her convulsed little face. "I don't care, she
scares me," she gasped, under her breath, lest her mother hear. "She
ain't any way I've ever seen her. I'm 'fraid she's goin' to be crazy.
I'm dreadful 'fraid mother's goin' to be crazy, Jerome."

"No, she ain't," said Jerome. "She's just come to herself, I tell
you."

"Father's dead and mother's crazy, and Doctor Prescott has got the
mortgage," wailed Elmira, in an utter rebellion of grief.

Jerome caught her by the arm and pulled her after him at a run, out
of the shed, into the cool spring morning air. So early in the day,
with no stir of life except the birds in sight or sound, the new
grass and flowering branches and blooming distances seemed like the
unreal heaven of a dream; and, indeed, nothing save their own dire
strait of life was wholly tangible and met them but with shocks of