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Updated: June 15, 2025
Nance was kneeling on the floor, tying a cord about her box when she heard steps on the stairs. "Uncle Jed?" she asked in alarm. "No. Just Snawdor. He won't ast no questions. He ain't got gumption enough to be curious." "I hate to go sneaking off like this without telling everybody good-by," said Nance petulantly, "Uncle Jed, and the children, and the Levinskis, and Mr. Demry, and and Dan."
The subsequent years had brought many little Snawdors in their wake, and Mr. Snawdor, being thus held up by the highwayman Life, ignominiously surrendered. He did not like being married; he did not enjoy being a father; his one melancholy satisfaction lay in being a martyr. Mrs.
The shoeless, capless, unwashed boy, with his ragged trousers hitched to his shoulders by one suspender, frowned up at the judge through a fringe of tumbled hair. "Nothin'," he said doggedly. "Where do you live?" "I live at home when me maw's there." "Where is she now?" This question caused considerable nudging and side-glancing on the part of Mrs. Snawdor. "She's went to the country," said Dan.
Snawdor and Nance took their departure, the former, whose thoughts seldom traveled on a single track, said tentatively: "Dan Lewis has got to be real nice lookin' sence you seen him, ain't he?" "Nothin' to brag on," said Nance, still smarting at his indifference.
"I'd like to know whose milk-can this is?" demanded Mrs. Snawdor indignantly. "You tell her when she pays fer my milk, it 'll be time enough fer her to tell me what to do with it. You needn't be scurryin' so to git off. I'm fixin' to go to market. You'll have to stay an' 'tend to the children 'til I git back." "But I'm tryin' to git a good report," urged Nance. "I don't want to be late."
Snawdor, who was hardly half a man, became a dozen; and Miss Molloy, in a becoming uniform, moved in and out among the cots, a ministering angel of mercy. For the first time since Dan Lewis's marriage, her old courage and zest for life returned, and when Mrs. Snawdor came in at midnight, she found her sitting beside her patient with shining eyes full of waking dreams.
Snawdor gave her ready consent to Nance trying her hand as a "home finisher." "We got to git money from somewheres," she said, "an' I always did want to know how them Polocks live. But don't you let on to your Uncle Jed what you're doing." "I ain't goin' to let on to nobody," said Nance, thrilled with the secrecy of the affair.
"You'll see the day when you're glad enough to go back to the factory." Before the month was over, Nance began to wonder if Mrs. Snawdor was right. With unabating zeal she tramped the streets, answering advertisements, applying at stores, visiting agencies.
Snawdor signaled for help, Nance responded to the cry with positive enthusiasm. Here was something stimulating at last. There was immediate work to be done, and she was the one to do it. As she hurried up the steps of Number One, she found young Dr. Isaac Lavinski superintending the construction of a temporary door. "You can't come in here!" he called to her, peremptorily. "We're in quarantine.
She had hurried off that morning without her breakfast, leaving everything at sixes and sevens, and she wanted to get back and clean up before Mrs. Snawdor got up. She stirred restlessly, and her chair creaked. The old lady opened one eye and regarded her suspiciously. "I am Nance Molloy," ventured the applicant, hopefully. "Mrs. Purdy sent me."
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