“Oh, yes, I did, and it begins Monday.”
“Well, it’s better than I expected. Now see to it that you get that riding skirt off an’ come an’ drive my team while I finish them oats.”
The daughter stopped where she stood and was going to reply that she must get ready if she were to go to Aunt Susan’s the next day, but on second thought closed her mouth down firmly. She knew she would do well if she escaped with no harder tax laid upon her temper than that of putting off her arrival at the Hornby home, and she turned to do as she was bidden.
When Elizabeth found her homecoming unpleasant and her father sullen and evidently nursing his wrath, she faced the storm without protest, took all that was said quietly, helped in the fields and endeavoured to make up for her unfortunate words in every helpful way possible. In all, she was so subtly generous with her assistance that it was impossible to bring on a quarrel with her, and the sour demeanour of her father was so carefully handled that Friday arrived without an open break having occurred. A new dress had been one of the longed-for accomplishments of the week’s work, but certain of Aunt Susan’s help when she was safely entrenched in her home, Elizabeth retired to the attic whenever she saw her father approach the house. His attitude was threatening, but the anxious girl was able to delay the encounter. It could only be delayed, for Mr. Farnshaw made a virtue of not forgetting unpleasant things.
The only unfortunate occurrence of the week was the presence of Sadie Crane and her mother when Mr. Hunter drove up to the back door for Elizabeth’s trunk, but even this had had its beneficial side, for Josiah Farnshaw had been mending harness, because a shower had made the ground too wet to plow, and the presence of neighbours made it possible to get the trunk packed without unpleasantness. When John Hunter drove up to the back door, Mr. Farnshaw rose from his chair beside the window and went to help put his daughter’s possessions in the wagon. Sadie crossed over to the window to get a look at Lizzie’s new beau.
Sadie Crane was now sixteen years old, and being undersized and childish of appearance had never had the pleasure of the company of a young man. The yearning in her pettish face as she stood unevenly on the discarded harness, looking out of the window toward John Hunter, caught Elizabeth’s attention and illuminated the whole affair to the older girl.
“Dude!” Sadie exclaimed spitefully, facing about and evidently offering insult.
But Elizabeth Farnshaw had seen the unsatisfied look which preceded the remark and it was excused. Sadie was just Sadie, and not to be taken seriously.
“He’d better soak his head; he can’t farm.”
No one replied, and Elizabeth said hurried good-byes and escaped.