"Breakfast is ready," she announced, finally; "if you don't set right
up an' eat it, it will be gettin' cold. I wouldn't give a cent for
cold Injun cake."
Charlotte arose promptly and brought a chair to the table, which
Sylvia always set punctiliously in the centre of the kitchen as if
for a large family.
"Don't scrape your chair on the floor that way; it wears 'em all
out," cried Sylvia, sharply.
Charlotte stared at her again, but she said nothing; she sat down and
began to eat absently. Sylvia watched her angrily between her own
mouthfuls, which she swallowed down defiantly like medicine.
"It ain't much use cookin' things if folks don't eat 'em," said she.
"I am eating," returned Charlotte.
"Eatin'? Swallowin' down Injun cake as if it was sawdust! I don't
call that eatin'. You don't act as if you tasted a mite of it!"
"Aunt Sylvy, what has got into you?" said Charlotte.
"Got into me? I should think you'd talk about anything gettin' into
me, when you set there like a stick. I guess you 'ain't got all there
is to bear."
"I never thought I had," said Charlotte.
"Well, I guess you 'ain't."
They went on swallowing their food silently; the great clock ticked
slowly, and the spring birds called outside; but they heard neither.
The shadows of the young elm leaves played over the floor and the
white table-cloth.
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