Mrs. Wheaton, although she had the good taste to ask few questions,
was much puzzled over the Jocelyns. Mr. Jocelyn's state of health
seemed to her very peculiar, and her shrewd, unprejudiced mind was
approaching Roger's conclusion, that he was a little "off." With an
insight common to sound, thrifty people, she saw that the outlook
for this family was dubious. She believed that the father would
become less and less of a reliance, that Mrs. Jocelyn was too
delicate to cope with a lower and grimmer phase of poverty, which
she feared they could not escape. When alone she often shook her
head in foreboding over Belle's brilliant black eyes, being aware
from long experience among the poor how dangerous are such attractions,
especially when possessed by an impulsive and unbalanced child. She
even sighed more deeply and often over Mildred, for she knew well
that more truly than any of the house-plants in the window the
young girl who cared for them was an exotic that might fade and
die in the changed and unfavorable conditions of her present and
prospective life. The little children, too, were losing the brown
and ruddy hues they had acquired on the Atwood farm, and very
naturally chafed over their many and unwonted restrictions.

Nor did the city missionary whom she had called in to attend Mrs.
Bute's funeral illumine the Jocelyn problem for the good woman.
He was an excellent man, but lamentably deficient in tact, being
prone to exhort on the subject of religion in season, and especially
out of season, and in much the same way on all occasions. Since
the funeral he had called two or three times, and had mildly and
rather vaguely harangued Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred. Instead of
echoing his pious platitudes with murmurs of assent and approval,
they had been very polite, and also very reticent and distant; and