June did not have to be awakened that morning. At the first clarion call of the old rooster behind the cabin, her eyes opened wide and a happy thrill tingled her from head to foot—why, she didn't at first quite realize—and then she stretched her slender round arms to full length above her head and with a little squeal of joy bounded out of the bed, dressed as she was when she went into it, and with no changes to make except to push back her tangled hair. Her father was out feeding the stock and she could hear her step-mother in the kitchen. Bub still slept soundly, and she shook him by the shoulder.
“Git up, Bub.”
“Go 'way,” said Bub fretfully. Again she started to shake him but stopped—Bub wasn't going to the Gap, so she let him sleep. For a little while she looked down at him—at his round rosy face and his frowsy hair from under which protruded one dirty fist. She was going to leave him, and a fresh tenderness for him made her breast heave, but she did not kiss him, for sisterly kisses are hardly known in the hills. Then she went out into the kitchen to help her step-mother.
“Gittin' mighty busy, all of a sudden, ain't ye,” said the sour old woman, “now that ye air goin' away.”
“'Tain't costin' you nothin',” answered June quietly, and she picked up a pail and went out into the frosty, shivering daybreak to the old well. The chain froze her fingers, the cold water splashed her feet, and when she had tugged her heavy burden back to the kitchen, she held her red, chapped hands to the fire.
“I reckon you'll be mighty glad to git shet o' me.” The old woman sniffled, and June looked around with a start.
“Pears like I'm goin' to miss ye right smart,” she quavered, and June's face coloured with a new feeling towards her step-mother.
“I'm goin' ter have a hard time doin' all the work and me so poorly.”
“Lorrety is a-comin' over to he'p ye, if ye git sick,” said June, hardening again. “Or, I'll come back myself.” She got out the dishes and set them on the table.
“You an' me don't git along very well together,” she went on placidly. “I never heerd o' no step-mother and children as did, an' I reckon you'll be might glad to git shet o' me.”