"Why, Eben, my son, what's the matter?" asked his mother. "Is that the way to speak to your sister?"
If Flora had been wise, she would not have said anything, but have left her brother to be ashamed of his petulance. But she was not very wise, nor was she, with all her good qualities, very amiable; moreover, she loved Eben with all the love of her heart, and she was, besides, tired and nervous from too close application to a perplexing piece of work, and so was therefore in an excellent state for a quarrel. So she said in the sarcastic tone which she well knew always vexed Eben, "Oh, never mind him, mother! Of course the vexation and fatigue have been all on his side. We haven't had any. We have done nothing but enjoy our elegant leisure—you with Mrs. Badger's sick baby, and I with a perverse sewing machine. Besides, what are women made for, if not for the lords of creation to vent their vexation upon? We ought to accept our lot, and be thankful."
"That ain't my notion, and it wasn't your dear father's, Flora Fairchild!" said Mrs. Fairchild, who always took things literally. "And I don't believe Eben thinks so, either."
"Oh, very well!" said Eben. "If I cannot be quiet here, I will go to my room. It is very kind of you, Flora, I must say—all to revenge yourself because I forgot to bring you a pail of water, I suppose. You know well enough how much I have always wished to study, and you pretended to wish it too. I can see now just how much you were willing to sacrifice to me."
"Children, now don't you say another word until you can speak pleasantly!" said Mrs. Fairchild.
"Oh, I don't want to speak," said Flora. "I am glad to understand what a monster of selfishness and ingratitude I am. Eben is all right, of course, only, as he is so wise, I should like to know how all this is to work for his good, when the very thing that he ought to be thankful for and that he has wished for so long makes him cross and selfish—that's all!"
"Not a word more, Flora!" said her mother. "No, Eben, not a word! Mind me! There has been a great deal too much said already."
Mrs. Fairchild rarely roused herself to command. A mild "I guess I wouldn't," or, "It isn't worth while," was as far as she commonly went in reproof, but when she did exercise her authority there was that about her which commanded obedience. Flora sank back in her chair and knitted furiously, and Eben hid his face behind his book. The rest of the evening was passed in silence till nine o'clock, when Eben arose and lighted his own lamp.
"Eben, you are not going to bed before prayers, are you?" said his mother, looking at him in surprise, for since Mr. Fairchild's death Eben had been acting as chaplain to the family.
"I don't wonder he feels like it," said Flora, half aloud. "His prayers would be edifying, no doubt."