963 
THE jj^URAL NEW-YORKER 
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WOMAN AND HOME 
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The Regeneration of Sarah 
By Beulah Heaston and Anna Nixon 
Alice had sat before the old desk 
through all the gray March afternoon, 
wearily going over her mother’s ac¬ 
counts; and all afternoon the truth had 
been forcing itself insistently upon her: 
the family was without funds, and she 
was largely responsible. 
Until a month ago, when she and 
Sarah had been called home from college 
by the death of their widowed mother, 
Alice had led the carefree life of the aver¬ 
age girl; and now she found herself in 
charge of four younger brothers and sis¬ 
ters, with no means of providing for 
th an except a worn-out farm of SO acres. 
“Oh mother, why didn't you tell me!” 
exclaimed the girl bitterly, dropping her 
head on her arms. “I didn’t mean to be 
selfish—how could I be so blind.” 
Remorsefully she thought of her share 
in the depletion of the farm, which had 
been badly mismanaged since her father’s 
death, five years before. Not once, in 
the three years since she entered college, 
had anything of value been sold that 
she or Sarah had not received the great¬ 
er part of the proceeds. One thing after 
another had gone to pay their college ex¬ 
penses, until Hillcrest was the most 
scantily stocked farm in the township. 
“They have sold everything for Sarah 
and me,” she reflected sadly; “Every¬ 
thing except the farm, and I suppose 
there’s nothing to do now but sell that. 
No,” she resolved with sudden determina¬ 
tion, “we’ll keep the farm—there must 
be some way.” 
Closing the desk. Alice went to the 
window and stood looking out over the 
fields, which showed desolate and barren 
in the March twilight. Even in the half 
light she could see the dilapidated con¬ 
dition of the farm buildings and fences, 
and she turned with a sigh as Margaret 
softly opened the door and said : 
“Supper is ready, Alice.” Margaret 
was the youngest of the three sisters, a 
delicate, imaginative girl of fifteen. 
“Oh, is it so late! I meant to get the 
supper, Margaret. Did Sarah help you?” 
“No, I asked her, but she said she 
must press her dress. I got along pretty 
well, except that the potatoes burned a 
little. I only left them for a minute 
while I went after butter and cream.” 
“Never mind, dear,” Alice comforted 
her. “The potatoes will be all right, I’m 
sure; and the table looks very nice.” 
“Do wait, Joe,” reproved Alice, as the 
youngest of the Willards slipped into 
his chair and eyed the tab.v hungrily. 
“Well, hurry up—I’m starved. Whee, 
custard pie! Who made it?” 
“Margaret, of course,” said Ben, who 
entered the room at that moment. Mar¬ 
garet was a great favorite with her older 
brother. 
Sarah, as usual, was late to supper. 
She ate in silence for a time, then push¬ 
ing away her plate with a disdainful air, 
she exclaimed petulantly: “I wish we 
could have something fit to eat occas¬ 
ionally.” 
“What’s the matter, Sarah?” inquired 
Margaret. 
“You know perfectly well what’s the 
matter—you know I can’t eat burnt po¬ 
tatoes.” The tears started in Margaret’s 
eyes at the fault-finding words. 
“Gee!” put in Joe, the irrepressible; 
“I was sure you had fried the potatoes, 
Sarah. They taste like your cooking.” 
Sarah tossed her head at this thrust 
hut did not venture a retort. Experi¬ 
ence had taught her that Joe, though 
only ten, was apt to get the better of 
her in a controversy. She pouted during 
the rest of the meal and pleading a head¬ 
ache, went to her room immediately after 
supper. 
Margaret insisted on helping Alice 
with the dishes; and then, tired with 
the day’s work, soon went to bed. At 
nine o’clock Joe was sent upstairs pro¬ 
testing 
Alice was anxious to discuss with Ben 
their plans for the future; but somehow 
she found it difficult to begin, and sat 
idly before the fire all evening while he 
pored over his books, trying to make up 
the lessons he had lost in the last few 
weeks. She had felt, ever since she came 
home, that there was a restraint in Ben’s 
manner toward her, and suspected that 
he thought she and Sarah had done 
wrong in accepting an education at such 
a sacrifice on the part of the rest of the 
family. At last she ventured timidly: 
“Are you going hack to school to-mor¬ 
row, Ben ?” 
“No,” answered the boy shortly, with¬ 
out looking up from his book. 
“I think you ought to—you’ve missed 
a month already.” 
“I’m not going back,” said Ben quietly. 
“Oh Ben, you must finish high school.” 
“I'll study evenings and take the ex¬ 
aminations. I talked to the superinten¬ 
dent and he thinks I can do it.” 
“Why are you going to do that?” Why 
don't you finish the year—it's only three 
months?” 
“I’d like to know who’d do the farm 
work if I did.” 
“Can’t we get Lem Young? Mother 
always got him to help.” 
“Lem’s going to work for Jim Scott, 
lie says he’s tired of waiting for his 
money till the crops are sold.” 
“Isn’t there some one else we can get?” 
“There’s no one else, and I’d like to 
know how we’d pay him if there was?” 
“Yes,” said Alice after a pause; “I 
know there isn’t any money. I was look¬ 
ing over Mother’s account book this 
afternoon ” Iler voice broke and she 
went on with an effort: “I didn’t know, 
Ben—I’m sorry. Mother sent nearly all 
the money that was made to Sarah and 
me; and sometimes we thought it wasn’t 
enough. We’ve made it awfully hard for 
the rest of you—especially you and 
Mother—I didn’t know how selfish I 
was!” 
Ben was silent, and after a few 
minutes she continued: “I thought at 
first that we’d have to sell the farm—• 
that there was no other way. We 
haven’t any money, but we have no 
debts, either; and don’t you think, Ben, 
that we can manage some way to keep 
Hillcrest?” 
Ben's face lighted up. “Alice, you’re 
a brick!” he exclaimed, pushing away 
his books and joining his sister at the 
fireside. “I’ve been wishing we could 
keep the farm. I’ve been talking to Rob. 
and I know I could make the farm pay 
if we could get some money ahead to buy 
some new stock and new implements. 1 
don’t mind giving up school for a while. 
But I knew that Sarah wants to get 
away from the farm and I thought you 
girls would want to sell.” 
“If we can manage to get along this 
Summer everything will be all right,” 
said Alice. “I’m going to take the teach¬ 
ers’ examination next month—you know 
you said there’d be a vacancy in the 
Westfield schools—and I’m going to try 
for the position.” 
“That’s what Mother hoped you’d do 
when you finished school. I guess you 
might as well know that we didn’t think 
it quite fair for you girls to go on and 
finish when there didn't seem to be any 
prospect for the rest of us to get an 
education. But Mother always said you’d 
teach and help the others ” 
“But I didn’t intend to teach,” con¬ 
fessed Alice unwillingly, her face flush¬ 
ing ; “not since last Fall.” 
“That’s what I told Mother. I thought 
it was no use for you to keep on going 
to school if you were going to be mar¬ 
ried to Dr. Armstrong as soon as you 
graduated; and of course none of us ex¬ 
pected Sarah to make any use of her 
education. But when you merited so 
much of your work, Mother said you 
must go on—she’d manage some way for 
the rest of us.” 
“And if I can get that position I’ll 
carry out Mother’s plans after all.” 
“But what will we do for money this 
Spring? There won’t be anything to 
sell for three or four months and there’s 
scarcely a piece of machinery on the 
farm that’s fit to work with. It’ll b.- 
dry enough to plow in a day or two and 
we must have a new plow. I suppose 
Mr. Adams would trust us for the price 
of one; but I don’t like to ask him— 
Mother never would get anything on 
credit; she’d do without first.” 
“We’ll have to ask for credit. Surely 
some of the crops will do well, and in 
the Fall we can pay for the things we 
have bought.” 
“What’s happened to Ben?” asked 
Margaret the next morning when Ben 
left the table and started to the barn, 
whistling. “He seems more cheerful 
than lie's been for weeks ” 
M hen Alice had repeated her conversa¬ 
tion with Ben the night before, Margaret 
exclaimed : “Oh. good ! I’m awfully glad, 
for I want to stay here. But Sarah won’t 
like it. She says that she is tired of so 
much hard work and she hopes we’ll sell 
out and go to town !” 
“Well, I’m afraid we’ll all have to 
work harder than ever and scrimp and 
save to make both ends meet.” 
“M hat's that about Scrimping and sav¬ 
ing?” asked Sarah, appearing at the 
door in a kimono, her hair in patent 
curlers. “I’ve had all the scrimping and 
saving I want, and I’m not going to hurt 
myself working, either. You don’t mean 
to tell me you think seriously of keeping 
the farm?” 
“I don't know what we’d do for a liv¬ 
ing if we sold it,” replied Alice with some 
spirit. “I’m sure I don’t know what 
you’d do.” 
“If we sold it we’d have some money, 
wouldn’t we?” 
“Yes, but it wouldn’t last long. Hill- 
crest wouldn’t bring much in its present 
condition.” 
“Well, we could live on it while it 
lasted, and perhaps by that time some¬ 
thing would turn up. It’s disgusting to 
think of staying in this poky, slow place 
all one’s life!” 
The sound of voices at the outer door 
put an end to the conversation, and 
Sarah barely had time to escape through 
the opposite door when Ben and Robert 
Allen, a neighbor’s son, entered. 
“Good morning, girls,” said Robert. 
“Ben’s just been telling me you’ve decided 
to stay on the old farm, and I’m cer¬ 
tainly glad to hear it.” 
“1'es. and perhaps you can help Ben 
with “some suggestions,” said Alice, 
Robert was a student at the State Agri¬ 
cultural College, home for the Spring 
vacation. 
“Sure! I’ll be glad to help in any way 
I can. I noticed when I came through 
your orchard that the fruit buds are in 
fine condition. Apples ought to be a good 
price this year—after such a severe 
Winter. You yever have a failure on 
that hill,- do you?” 
“No, replied Ben, then added dis¬ 
gustedly : “But the kind of apples we 
raise won’t bring much. The trees 
haven’t been trimmed since Father died.” 
“I’ll show you how to trim them, and 
for $25 dollars you can get a spraying 
outfit that will serve your purpose for 
the present. It will take some hard work 
to put the orchard in shape; but it will 
be worth it, for it looks as though you’ll 
have a bumper crop.” 
“If you really think it will pay,” said 
Ben, “I don’t object to the hard work.” 
“I never thought of the orchard.” put 
in Alice enthusiastically. “It would be 
fine if we could make it pay. It’s awfully 
good of you, Robert, to offer to help.” 
“I’ll be mighty glad to do it,” was the 
hearty response; and the way the young 
man’s face lighted up as Sarah came into 
the room just then, indicated that he had 
more than a neighborly interest in th > 
Willard family, 
- Although it was a very different-look¬ 
ing Sarah from the one who had disap¬ 
peared ■ through the same door fifteen 
minutes earlier. The kimono had been 
(Continued on page 070.) 
; The family was without funds, and she partly responsible.” 
