Poor fellow! He belongs to a former generation. Well, I’m thankful I don’t have to make fires in ranges nor be tried by them, but if I did, and had to, I’m sure I could excel if I tried. Anyway, I’d like to show that man that I could—and I know I could. I wish they had courses in ranges at school and I’d take one just to prove to the horrid fellow that I could do something in that line, too. It’s my opinion people can do well in anything if they only put their hearts into it, no matter what it is. It may not be so pleasant, but they can make it a means of winning. Dear old Professor Bowen! He thought I was pure gold. I wonder if I am?”

And so she fell asleep.

But the fire that was to try Elsie Hathaway was not far away.

Chapter 2

 

When Elsie awoke the next morning, which was Saturday, everything looked bright in her life. She had forgotten the hateful stranger. He was relegated to the place in her mind with farmers who worked their wives to death, and dull men who saw no good in women except to do drudgery. She remembered only the delightful things that had been said, and the intoxication of the whirling, gliding motion of her dance the night before. It if were right and not frivolous and useless she would delight to go on entertaining people in that way always. It was a delicious sensation to feel herself floating to the music, in the sight of admiring beholders, and to know that she had the power to charm them thus. She felt that the intoxication was dangerous and it was well the gymnasium was closed with last night’s performance. There would be no more temptation that year for showing off. She must be careful not to let that tendency grow. Of all things, she despised people who thought too much of themselves. But there would probably be no danger in that sort of thing next year. She would be a senior and would have to work. This had but been a play and now it was over.

With which sensible reflections she put the finishing pat to a charming outfit and went down to breakfast in a cool muslin of palest sea green, the color that always intensified the red gold of her hair and made it shine like a halo. One of the boys used to say that Elsie Hathaway was the only girl in the world who looked better with light golden eyelashes than she would have done with dark. They seemed but to soften the delicate texture of her skin as white chiffon might do, and made a shy drapery for the grayness of her eyes—eyes that never seemed to flirt or grow boldly intimate. The boys liked her quiet reserve.

And indeed, Elsie Hathaway was well content with life as she had found it the last seven years. She had everything that money could buy or heart could wish, at least within reason, and a home and family whose greatest desire seemed to be to please her, and yet they loved her so wholesomely that it had not seemed to spoil her.

When Elsie’s mother had died, Elsie was a slim little girl of twelve and her aunt and uncle had taken her at once to the city to live with them. There had been a faithful old servant at her father’s home to keep the house running for Mr. Hathaway and Elsie’s two brothers, and there had been no question at all but that Elsie should go to live with her aunt. Her father had accepted passively his sister-in-law’s decision that a girl at Elsie’s age needed a mother’s care. Mr. Hathaway was crushed by the death of his wife and seemed not to be able to plan anything for himself.

Aunt Esther’s home had been wonderful, and Elsie had been made welcome to share all its comforts and luxuries with her two cousins, Katharine and Bettina, and so the happy school years had passed, finding her at the close of her junior year in high school, and full of honors and happiness. She still made her home with her aunt and uncle for they would hear of nothing else.