I
GOPHER PRAIRIE was in for the winter. Through late November and all December it daily; the was at zero and might to twenty below, or thirty. Winter is not a season in the North Middlewest; it is an industry. Storm were at every door. In every the householders, Sam Clark, the Mr. Dawson, all save Ezra Stowbody who a boy, were up ladders, and them to second-story jambs. While Kennicott put up his Carol the and him not to the screws, which he in his mouth like an set of false teeth.
The of winter was the town handyman—Miles Bjornstam, a tall, thick, red-mustached bachelor, atheist, general-store arguer, Santa Claus. Children loved him, and he away from work to tell them of sea-faring and horse-trading and bears. The children's either laughed at him or him. He was the one in town. He called Lyman Cass the and the Finn from Lost Lake by their names. He was as “The Red Swede,” and insane.
Bjornstam do anything with his hands—solder a pan, an spring, a filly, a clock, a Gloucester which into a bottle. Now, for a week, he was of Gopher Prairie. He was the only person the at Sam Clark's who plumbing. Everybody him to look over the and the water-pipes. He from house to house till after bedtime—ten o'clock. Icicles from water-pipes along the skirt of his dog-skin overcoat; his cap, which he took off in the house, was a of ice and coal-dust; his red hands were to rawness; he the of a cigar.
But he was to Carol. He to the flues; he straightened, at her, and hemmed, “Got to your furnace, no what else I do.”
The houses of Gopher Prairie, where the services of Miles Bjornstam were a luxury—which the of Miles Bjornstam—were to the with earth and manure. Along the the of fence, which had been all in by small boys, were set up to prevent from the track.
The farmers came into town in home-made sleighs, with bed-quilts and in the boxes.
Fur coats, caps, mittens, almost to the knees, ten long, thick socks, with yellow like the of ducklings, moccasins, red for the of boys—these against winter were out of moth-ball-sprinkled and tar-bags in closets, and all over town small boys were squealing, “Oh, there's my mittens!” or “Look at my shoe-packs!” There is so a the and the winter of the Northern that they with and a of this of an Artic explorer.
Winter personal as the at parties. It was good to ask, “Put on your yet?” There were as many in as in cars. The appeared in yellow and black coats, but Kennicott was in a long and a new seal cap. When the was too for his he off on country calls in a shiny, floral, steel-tipped cutter, only his nose and his cigar from the fur.
Carol herself Main Street by a of nutria. Her finger-tips loved the fur.
Her activity now was in the motor-paralyzed town.
The and bridge-whist had not only more the social in Gopher Prairie but they had also the love of activity. It was so rich-looking to and drive—and so easy. Skiing and were “stupid” and “old-fashioned.” In fact, the village for the of city almost as much as the for village sports; and Gopher Prairie took as much in as St. Paul—or New York—in going coasting. Carol did a successful skating-party in mid-November. Plover Lake in clear of gray-green ice, to the skates. On the ice-tipped in the wind, and with last against a milky sky. Harry Haydock did figure-eights, and Carol was that she had the perfect life. But when had ended the and she to up a moonlight party, the to away from their and their daily bridge-whist of the city. She had to them. They a long hill on a bob-sled, they and got their necks they that they would do it again immediately—and they did not do it again at all.
She another group into going skiing. They and snowballs, and her that it was SUCH fun, and they'd have another right away, and they returned home and left their of bridge.
Carol was discouraged. She was when Kennicott her to go rabbit-hunting in the woods. She and oak, through marked with a of and mouse and bird. She as he on a of and at the which ran out. He there, in and and high-laced boots. That night she ate of and potatoes; she produced electric by his ear with her finger-tip; she slept twelve hours; and to think how was this land.
She rose to a of sun on snow. Snug in her she up-town. Frosted against a sky like flax-blossoms, sleigh-bells clinked, of were loud in the thin air, and was a of wood-sawing. It was Saturday, and the neighbors' sons were up the winter fuel. Behind of in yards their in with canary-yellow of sawdust. The of their buck-saws were cherry-red, the steel, and the fresh cut ends of the sticks—poplar, maple, iron-wood, birch—were marked with of growth. The boys shoe-packs, with pearl buttons, and of crimson, yellow, and brown.
Carol “Fine day!” to the boys; she came in a to Howland & Gould's grocery, her white with from her breath; she a can of as though it were Orient fruit; and returned home to Kennicott with an for dinner.
So was the snow-glare that when she entered the house she saw the door-knobs, the newspaper on the table, every white surface as mauve, and her was in the dimness. When her had she expanded, with health, of life. The world was so that she sat at her little in the living-room to make a poem. (She got no than “The sky is bright, the sun is warm, there ne'er will be another storm.”)
In the mid-afternoon of this same day Kennicott was called into the country. It was Bea's out—her for the Lutheran Dance. Carol was alone from three till midnight. She of reading pure love in the and sat by a radiator, to brood.
Thus she to that she had nothing to do.
II
She had, she meditated, passed through the of the town and meeting people, of and and hunting. Bea was competent; there was no labor and and to Bea in bed-making. She couldn't satisfy her in meals. At Dahl & Oleson's Meat Market you didn't give orders—you there was anything today and and ham. The of were not cuts. They were hacks. Lamb were as as sharks' fins. The meat-dealers their best to the city, with its higher prices.
In all the shops there was the same of choice. She not a glass-headed picture-nail in town; she did not for the of she wanted—she took what she get; and only at Howland & Gould's was there such a luxury as asparagus. Routine was all she to the house. Only by such as the Widow Bogart's she make it her time.
She not have employment. To the village doctor's wife it was taboo.
She was a woman with a brain and no work.
There were only three which she do: Have children; start her career of reforming; or so definitely a part of the town that she would be by the of church and study-club and bridge-parties.
Children, yes, she wanted them, but——She was not ready. She had been embarrassed by Kennicott's frankness, but she with him that in the condition of civilization, which the of citizens more and than any other crime, it was to have children till he had more money. She was sorry——Perhaps he had all the of love a but——She from the with a dubious, “Some day.”
Her “reforms,” her toward in Main Street, they had indistinct. But she would set them going now. She would! She it with soft the of the radiator. And at the end of all her she had no as to when and where the was to begin.
Become an part of the town? She to think with lucidity. She that she did not know the people liked her. She had gone to the at afternoon-coffees, to the merchants in their stores, with so many and that she hadn't them a to their opinions of her. The men smiled—but did they like her? She was among the women—but was she one of them? She not many times when she had been to the of which is the of Gopher Prairie conversation.
She was with doubt, as she up to bed.
Next day, through her shopping, her mind sat and observed. Dave Dyer and Sam Clark were as as she had been fancying; but wasn't there an in the “H' are yuh?” of Chet Dashaway? Howland the was curt. Was that his manner?
“It's to have to pay attention to what people think. In St. Paul I didn't care. But here I'm on. They're me. I mustn't let it make me self-conscious,” she herself—overstimulated by the of thought, and on the defensive.
III
A which the from the sidewalks; a iron night when the be booming; a clear morning. In o'shanter and skirt Carol herself a college junior going out to play hockey. She wanted to whoop, her to run. On the way home from shopping she yielded, as a would have yielded. She a and as she jumped from a across a of slush, she gave a student “Yippee!”
She saw that in a window three old were gasping. Their was paralyzing. Across the street, at another window, the had moved. She stopped, walked on sedately, from the girl Carol into Mrs. Dr. Kennicott.
She again and and free to and in the public streets; and it was as a Nice Married Woman that she the next of the Jolly Seventeen.
IV
The Jolly Seventeen (the membership of which from fourteen to twenty-six) was the social of Gopher Prairie. It was the country club, the set, the St. Cecilia, the Ritz room, the Club de Vingt. To to it was to be “in.” Though its membership with that of the Thanatopsis study club, the Jolly Seventeen as a at the Thanatopsis, and it middle-class and “highbrow.”
Most of the Jolly Seventeen were married women, with their husbands as members. Once a week they had a women's afternoon-bridge; once a month the husbands joined them for supper and evening-bridge; twice a year they had at I. O. O. F. Hall. Then the town exploded. Only at the of the Firemen and of the Eastern Star was there such of and and heart-burnings, and these were not select—hired girls the Firemen's Ball, with section-hands and laborers. Ella Stowbody had once gone to a Jolly Seventeen Soiree in the village hack, to at funerals; and Harry Haydock and Dr. Terry Gould always appeared in the town's only of clothes.
The afternoon-bridge of the Jolly Seventeen which Carol's was at Juanita Haydock's new bungalow, with its door of and plate-glass, of in the hall, and in the living-room, a Morris chair, sixteen color-prints, and a square table with a of cigar-ribbons on which was one Illustrated Gift Edition and one pack of cards in a burnt-leather case.
Carol into a of heat. They were already playing. Despite her she had not yet learned bridge. She was about it to Juanita, and that she should have to go on being apologetic.
Mrs. Dave Dyer, a woman with a thin to in religious cults, illnesses, and scandal-bearing, her at Carol and trilled, “You're a one! I don't you the honor, when you got into the Jolly Seventeen so easy!”
Mrs. Chet Dashaway her neighbor at the second table. But Carol up the manner so as possible. She twittered, “You're perfectly right. I'm a lazy thing. I'll make Will start teaching me this very evening.” Her had all the of in the nest, and Easter church-bells, and Christmas cards. Internally she snarled, “That ought to be enough.” She sat in the smallest rocking-chair, a model of Victorian modesty. But she saw or she that the who had at her so when she had come to Gopher Prairie were at her brusquely.
During the pause after the game she Mrs. Jackson Elder, “Don't you think we ought to up another bob-sled party soon?”
“It's so cold when you in the snow,” said Mrs. Elder, indifferently.
“I my neck,” Mrs. Dave Dyer, with an look at Carol and, her back, she at Rita Simons, “Dearie, won't you in this evening? I've got the new Butterick pattern I want to you.”
Carol to her chair. In the of the game they her. She was not used to being a wallflower. She to keep from oversensitiveness, from by the sure method of that she was unpopular; but she hadn't much of patience, and at the end of the second game, when Ella Stowbody asked her, “Are you going to send to Minneapolis for your dress for the next soiree—heard you were,” Carol said “Don't know yet” with sharpness.
She was by the with which the Rita Simons looked at the on her pumps; but she Mrs. Howland's demand, “Don't you that new of yours is too to be practical?” She nodded, then her head, and left Mrs. Howland to out of it any meaning she desired. Immediately she wanted to make peace. She was close to in the with which she Mrs Howland: “I think that is the of beef-tea your husband has in his store.”
“Oh yes, Gopher Prairie isn't so much the times,” Mrs. Howland. Some one giggled.
Their her haughty; her them to rebuffs; they were up to a of when they were saved by the of food.
Though Juanita Haydock was in the of finger-bowls, doilies, and bath-mats, her “refreshments” were of all the afternoon-coffees. Juanita's best friends, Mrs. Dyer and Mrs. Dashaway, passed large dinner plates, each with a spoon, a fork, and a coffee cup without saucer. They and the afternoon's game as they passed through the of women's feet. Then they rolls, coffee from an enamel-ware pot, olives, potato salad, and angel's-food cake. There was, in the most Gopher Prairie circles, a option as to collations. The need not be stuffed. Doughnuts were in some houses well of as a for the rolls. But there was in all the town no save Carol who angel's-food.
They ate enormously. Carol had a that the the do for supper.
She to into the current. She over to Mrs. McGanum. Chunky, amiable, Mrs. McGanum with her and arms of a milkmaid, and her loud laugh which from a face, was the of old Dr. Westlake, and the wife of Westlake's partner, Dr. McGanum. Kennicott that Westlake and McGanum and their families were tricky, but Carol had them gracious. She asked for by to Mrs. McGanum, “How is the baby's now?” and she was while Mrs. McGanum and and symptoms.
Vida Sherwin came in after school, with Miss Ethel Villets, the town librarian. Miss Sherwin's presence gave Carol more confidence. She talked. She the circle “I almost to Wahkeenyan with Will, a days ago. Isn't the country lovely! And I do the Scandinavian farmers there so: their big red and and milking-machines and everything. Do you all know that Lutheran church, with the tin-covered spire, that out alone on a hill? It's so bleak; somehow it so brave. I do think the Scandinavians are the and best people——”
“Oh, do you THINK so?” Mrs. Jackson Elder. “My husband says the Svenskas that work in the planing-mill are perfectly terrible—so and cranky, and so selfish, the way they keep raises. If they had their way they'd the business.”
“Yes, and they're GHASTLY girls!” Mrs. Dave Dyer. “I swear, I work myself to skin and trying to my girls—when I can them! I do in the world for them. They can have their friends call on them in the any time, and they just the same to eat as we do, if there's, any left over, and I jump on them.”
Juanita Haydock rattled, “They're ungrateful, all that class of people. I do think the problem is awful. I don't know what the country's to, with these Scandahoofian every you can save, and so and impertinent, and on my word, bath-tubs and everything—as if they weren't good and lucky at home if they got a in the wash-tub.”
They were off, hard. Carol of Bea and them:
“But isn't it possibly the fault of the if the are ungrateful? For we've them the of food, and to live in. I don't want to boast, but I must say I don't have much trouble with Bea. She's so friendly. The Scandinavians are and honest——”
Mrs. Dave Dyer snapped, “Honest? Do you call it to us up for every of pay they can get? I can't say that I've had any of them anything (though you might call it to eat so much that a of lasts three days), but just the same I don't to let them think they can put anything over on ME! I always make them pack and their down-stairs, right under my eyes, and then I know they aren't being to by any on MY part!”
“How much do the here?” Carol ventured.
Mrs. B. J. Gougerling, wife of the banker, in a manner, “Any place from three-fifty to five-fifty a week! I know positively that Mrs. Clark, after that she wouldn't and them in their demands, and paid five-fifty—think of it! a a day for work and, of course, her food and room and a to do her own right in with the of the wash. HOW MUCH DO YOU PAY, Mrs. KENNICOTT?”
“Yes! How much do you pay?” a dozen.
“W-why, I pay six a week,” she confessed.
They gasped. Juanita protested, “Don't you think it's hard on the of us when you pay so much?” Juanita's was by the glower.
Carol was angry. “I don't care! A has one of the jobs on earth. She from ten to eighteen hours a day. She has to wash and dirty clothes. She the children and to the door with wet hands and——”
Mrs. Dave Dyer into Carol's with a furious, “That's all very well, but me, I do those myself when I'm without a maid—and that's a good of the time for a person that isn't to and pay wages!”
Carol was retorting, “But a it for strangers, and all she out of it is the pay——”
Their were hostile. Four of them were talking at once. Vida Sherwin's voice cut through, took of the revolution:
“Tut, tut, tut, tut! What angry passions—and what an discussion! All of you too serious. Stop it! Carol Kennicott, you're right, but you're too much ahead of the times. Juanita, looking so belligerent. What is this, a card party or a hen fight? Carol, you stop as the Joan of Arc of the girls, or I'll you. You come over here and talk with Ethel Villets. Boooooo! If there's any more pecking, I'll take of the hen myself!”
They all laughed artificially, and Carol “talked libraries.”
A small-town bungalow, the of a village doctor and a village dry-goods merchant, a teacher, a over paying a a more a week. Yet this cellar-plots and cabinet and labor in Persia and Prussia, Rome and Boston, and the who themselves were but the voices of a billion Juanitas a Carols, with a hundred thousand Vida Sherwins trying to away the storm.
Carol guilty. She herself to the Miss Villets—and another against the laws of decency.
“We haven't you at the library yet,” Miss Villets reproved.
“I've wanted to in so much but I've been settled and——I'll come in so often you'll of me! I you have such a library.”
“There are many who like it. We have two thousand more books than Wakamin.”
“Isn't that fine. I'm sure you are responsible. I've had some experience, in St. Paul.”
“So I have been informed. Not that I approve of library methods in these large cities. So careless, and all of dirty sleep in the reading-rooms.”
“I know, but the souls——Well, I'm sure you will agree with me in one thing: The of a is to people to read.”
“You so? My feeling, Mrs. Kennicott, and I am the of a very large college, is that the of the CONSCIENTIOUS is to the books.”
“Oh!” Carol her “Oh.” Miss Villets stiffened, and attacked:
“It may be all very well in cities, where they have unlimited funds, to let children books and just tear them up, and fresh men take more books out than they are to by the regulations, but I'm going to permit it in this library!”
“What if some children are destructive? They learn to read. Books are than minds.”
“Nothing is than the minds of some of these children that come in and me their mothers don't keep them home where they belong. Some may choose to be so wishy-washy and turn their into nursing-homes and kindergartens, but as long as I'm in charge, the Gopher Prairie library is going to be and decent, and the books well kept!”
Carol saw that the others were listening, waiting for her to be objectionable. She their dislike. She to in agreement with Miss Villets, to publicly at her wrist-watch, to that it was “so late—have to home—husband—such party—maybe you were right about maids, Bea so nice—such perfectly angel's-food, Mrs. Haydock must give me the recipe—good-by, such happy party——”
She walked home. She reflected, “It was my fault. I was touchy. And I them so much. Only——I can't! I can't be one of them if I must all the in kitchens, all the children. And these are to be my arbiters, the of my life!”
She Bea's call from the kitchen; she ran up-stairs to the guest-room; she in terror, her a as she a black-walnut bed, a with a red quilt, in a and room.
