The other was
rarely seen, but her existence was all day testified by the odors that
ascended from the Tartarus of her ever-recurrent labors. It was a marvel
how from a region of such fumes could ascend the good dinners she
provided. The poor things of course had their weight on the mind of
Hester, for, had they tried, they could not have hidden the fact that
they lived to save: every movement almost, and certainly every tone
betrayed it. And yet, unlike so many lodging-house keepers, resembling
more the lion-ant than any other of the symbolic world of insects, they
were strictly honest. Had they not been, I doubt if Hester would have
been able, though they would then have needed more, to give them so much
pity as she did, for she had a great scorn of dishonesty. Her heart,
which was full of compassion for the yielding, the weak, the erring, was
not yet able to spend much on the actively vicious--the dishonest and
lying and traitorous. The honor she paid the honesty of these women
helped her much to pity the sunlessness of their existence, and the poor
end for which they lived. It looked as if God had forgotten
them--toiling for so little all day long, while the fact was they forgot
God, and were thus miserable and oppressed because they would not have
him interfere as he would so gladly have done.
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