e done, an' anyhow I want you to keep away
from the neighbors for a few days, till all this blows over."

He spoke firmly, though for him mildly, for he still had the uneasy
feeling that he stood on the brink of a volcano; and, as a matter of
fact, he tumbled into it the very next moment.

The meagre supper was spread; a plate of cold; soda biscuits, a
dried-apple pie, and the usual brown teapot were in evidence; and as her
father ceased speaking Waitstill opened the door of the brick oven where
the bean-pot reposed, set a chair by the table, and turning, took up
her coat (her mother's old riding-cloak, it was), and calmly put it on,
reaching then for her hood and her squirrel tippet.

"You are goin' out, then, spite o' what I said?" the Deacon inquired
sternly.

"Did you really think, father, that I would sleep under your roof after
you had turned my sister out into the snow to lodge with whoever might
take her in--my seventeen year-old-sister that your wife left to my
care; my little sister, the very light of my life?"

Waitstill's voice trembled a trifle, but other-wise she was quite calm
and free from heroics of any sort.

The Deacon looked up in surprise. "I guess you're kind o' hystericky,"
he said. "Set down--set down an' talk things over. I ain't got nothin'
ag'in' you, an' I mean to treat you right. Set down!"

The old man was decidedly nervous, and intended to keep his temper until
there was a safer chance to let it fly.

Waitstill sat down. "There's nothing to talk over," she said. "I have
done all that I promised my stepmother the night she died, and now I am
going. If there's a duty owed between daughter and father, it ought to
work both ways. I consider that I have done my share, and now I intend
to seek happiness for myself. I have never had any, and I am starving
for it."

"An' you'd leave me to git on the best I can, after what I've done
for you?" burst out the Deacon, still trying to hold down his growing
passion.

"You gave me my life, and I'm thankful to you for that, but you've given
me little since, father."

"Hain't I fed an' clothed you?"

"No more than I have fed and clothed you. You've provided the raw food,
and I've cooked and served it. You've bought and I have made shirts and
overalls and coats for you, and knitted your socks and comforters and
mittens. Not only have I toiled and saved and scrimped away my girlhood
as you bade me, but I've earned for you. Who made the butter,