Judith, without waiting to take off her mackinaw, cheeks scarlet, eyes brilliant, stood before her father.
"Here I am, Dad."
John looked up from his book. "Have you milked yet?"
"No, sir."
"Go out and do it."
"I want to know if you're going to lick me, Dad?"
"What did I promise you, last night?" he demanded.
"Do you mean to keep that promise?" asked Judith.
"Go out and tend to your milking!" roared John, rising to his feet and throwing the book across the room. "Get out of my sight, you little fool, you blankety-blank—" But Judith had fled and Douglas retired to the kitchen.
Supper was a silent affair. But that evening when the family had gathered under the lamp to read, Douglas said, "Scott Parsons wants me to take the mail stage for him Wednesday."