"
"Hadn't you better?"
"No; I can't. Don't let's talk any more about it."
Charlotte pushed past Rose's detaining hand, and the girls went
down-stairs. Mrs. Barnard looked around dejectedly at them as they
entered the kitchen. Her eyes were red, and her mouth drooping; she
was clearing the debris of the pies from the table; there was a smell
of baking, but Cephas had gone out. She tried to smile at Rose. "Are
you goin' now?" said she.
"Yes; I've got to. I've got to sew on my muslin dress. When are you
coming over, Aunt Sarah? You haven't been over to our house for an
age."
"I don't care if I never go anywhere!" cried Sarah Barnard, with
sudden desperation. "I'm discouraged." She sank in a chair, and flung
her apron over her face.
"Don't, mother," said Charlotte.
"I can't help it," sobbed her mother. "You're young and you've got
more strength to bear it, but mine's all gone. I feel worse about you
than if it was myself, an' there's so much to put up with besides. I
don't feel as if I could put up with things much longer, nohow."
"Uncle Cephas ought to be ashamed of himself!" Rose cried out.
Sarah stood up. "Well, I don't s'pose I have so much to put up with
as some folks," she said, catching her breath as if it were her
dignity. "Your Uncle Cephas means well. It did seem as if them sorrel
pies were the last straw, but I hadn't ought to have minded it.
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