haw asked, her mind, like her hands, filled
with practical concerns.

"Almost," Elizabeth returned as she rose to get the broom with which to
sweep the ever dusty floor. "It's ready to paint," she added.

"Is it goin' t' be painted? Will it be white and have green shutters?"

Elizabeth laughed at the gratified pride in her mother's tone.

"I don't know, ma," she said, looking for the shovel, which, when it could
be located, served as a dustpan.

"Didn't he ask you what colour to put on it?" the mother asked, fishing
the shovel out of the rubbish collected behind the rusty cook stove. "Now
look here, Lizzie," she added with sudden suspicion, "don't you go an'
spoil him right t' begin with. You let him see that you want things your
own way about th' house. If you set your foot down now, You'll have it
easier all th' way through. That's where I made my mistake. I liked t'
give up t' your pa at first an' then--an' then he got t' thinkin' I didn't
have no right t' want anything my way."

Mrs. Farnshaw filled the hungry stove with cobs and studied the subject
dejectedly.

"I don't get my way about nothin'. I can't go t' town t' pick out a new
dress that is bought with money I get from th' eggs, even. He'll manage
most any way t' get off t' town so's t' keep me from knowin' he's goin',
an' then make me send th' eggs an' butter by some one that's goin' by. He
makes me stay home t' watch something if he has t' let me know he's goin'
his self. I don't own my house, nor my children, nor myself."

The undercurrent of Elizabeth's thoughts as she listened to the spiritless
tale was, "but John's so different from pa."

"I reckon I'll never have no help from you now," Mrs. Farnshaw continued
in the same whine.

The girl crossed the room and put her arms tenderly around her mother's
neck.

"I'll live real near you, ma, and you can come and see me every few days.
Don't let's spoil these last few weeks by worrying," Elizabeth said, her
eyes opened to the longing expressed.

Mrs. Farnshaw was heating the oven for baking, and broke away from the
sympathetic clasp to refill the roaring stove.

"These cobs don't last a minute," she said, and then turned to Elizabeth
again. "You'll have th' nicest house in th' country. My! won't it make th'
Cranes jealous?"

"They don't count," Elizabeth answered. "I believe you think more of
John's house than you do of him."

"No, I don't, but I'm glad t' see you doin' so well for yourself."