Mollie was fatherless and brotherless. She had no male cousins within
a thousand miles. Her only uncle, two blocks off, was a man whose
dinners rebelled against digestion, and who might have been beyond
the seas for all the good he did her. They were a feminine
family,--Mollie, her mother, the old cat and her kittens
three,--bereft of masculine rule and care, and in need of money earned
by masculine hands.
The mother bore losses and lacks with the philosophy of her age; but
Mollie's age was only twelve, and knew not philosophy. She realized
that she was a mistake. She was miserably aware that she was a mistake
which could never be corrected. Friends repeatedly assured her that it
was a great pity she had not been born a boy, and tantalized her with
boyhood's possibilities. Frequent mention was made of ways in which
she might minister to her mother's comfort if she were a son; and all
Mollie's day-dreams were visions of that gallant son's achievements.
She used to close her eyes and see wings and bay-windows growing
around their little cottage and making it a mansion; their old clothes
gliding away, and fine new robes stepping into their places; strong
servants working in the kitchen; pictures stealing up the walls, and
luxuries scattering themselves hither and thither, till she felt the
spirit of the boy within her, and seemed equal to the deeds he would
have done.
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