The sting of the criticism was drawn by Luther’s merry acceptation of it. Sadie laughed too, but the hint left its rankling point. These same men would harvest for them on the morrow, and as Sadie looked over Elizabeth Hunter’s well set table she knew that she would not have the advantage on her side.
“Lizzie’s always had th’ best of everything,” she thought.
Silas Chamberlain thought over the day’s events as he rode slowly home. While unhitching, Old Queen nipped angrily at Bob, who had sniffed at her collar pad, and Silas cuffed her ears.
“Whoa, there, you spiteful beast! You’ll be wantin’ pie that’s a leetle better done on th’ under crust next. Drat ’er! I could ’a’ fit right there, only—well you kin allus hit harder with that kind of folks if you don’t let yourself git riled. Pore little woman! Not little, neither—but a year ago so young an’ glowin’ with happiness. Used t’ make me think of a bob-white, trottin’ up an down these roads s’ contented like, an’ allus so friendly an’ sociable. Looks ’s if she didn’t have spirits enough t’ laugh at nothin’ these days. Looks ’s if she’d had a peep into a den of wild beasts an’ was afraid they’d break out an’ get ’er. Liza Ann’s got t’ go an’ see ’er, an’ I’m goin’ t’ tell ’er so.”
As Silas went toward the house, he stopped suddenly and looked back at the wagon, which stood in the same place he had left it that rainy afternoon over a year ago.
“She looked that peert with ’er red lips an’ bright eyes, a askin’ if th’ school board was t’ meet. Pore little woman—she ain’t a goslin’ any more, an’ ’er new feathers ain’t turnin’ th’ rain very good neither,” he reflected, shaking his head.
The long day ended at last and John came to the house after the evening chores were finished. Elizabeth waited for him in her bedroom. Throughout the entire evening she had been telling herself that she must make this thing right. For the sake of the expected child she must not let her mind be disturbed with the hurt feeling she had been unable to put away since John had gone out without letting her explain about the morning’s baking. She allowed herself no angry or resentful thought for the prolonged and cruel reproach. Dry-eyed, she sat by the open window in her nightdress, making buttonholes in a tiny slip as she waited. She heard him deposit the basket of cobs beside the kitchen stove, which he never forgot to bring in at night, and by the rattle of the dipper which followed and the chug, chug, chug of the pump knew that he was filling the reservoir. Breakfast on the farm was an early meal and greatly facilitated by small preparations. John never forgot nor neglected his part of the household duties. Elizabeth sighed. John had the appearance of right on his side when he demanded her highest efforts at the household altar. She put away the little slip as she heard him coming toward the bedroom and rose to meet him. The tears came in spite of every effort to stay them, and to hide her face she dug it deep into his shoulder while she sobbed out her story. It was a full minute before John’s arm went about her, but at last reflecting that something was due one in her condition, he patted her heaving shoulders and said as if addressing a child:
“There, there now, I never thought of you feeling so bad,” and after a minute’s thought added, “but you see, dear, the part of the dinner you saw to yourself was all right, and the pies had to be apologized for.”