"Did you sense what it meant, Luke—what Aunt Molly told us about Matty Bisbee? We was left out deliberate—that's what it meant. Her an' me that was raised together an' went to school and picnics all our girlhood together! Never could see one 'thout the other when we was growin' up—Jim Bisbee knew that too! But"—her voice wavered miserably—"I didn't get no invite to her funeral. I don't count no more, Lukey. None of us, anywheres.... We're jest them poor Gawd-forsaken Hayneses."
She slipped down suddenly into a chair and covered her face, her thin shoulders shaking. Luke went and touched her awkwardly. Times he would have liked to put his arms round Maw—now more than ever; but he didn't dare.
"Don't take on, Maw! Don't!"
"Who's takin' on?" She lifted a fierce, sallow, tear-wet face. "Hain't no use makin' a fuss. All's left's to work—to work, an' die after a while."
"I hate 'em! Uncle Clem an' her, I mean."
"They mean kindness—their way." But her tears started afresh.
"I hate 'em!" Luke's voice grew shriller. "I'd like—I'd like—Oh, damn 'em!"
"Don't swear, boy!"
It was Tom who broke in on them. "It's a letter from Rural Free Delivery. He jest dropped it."
He came up, grinning, with the missive. The mother's fingers closed on it nervously.