ad th' best of everything," she said, shaking her head
sadly. "I wisht she wasn't s' set against 'er pa. I'm goin' t' make 'er do
it all th' same."

The girl in the backyard pondered upon the same thing as she dried her
hair in the hot sun.

"I hate it," she thought, "but I'm going to do it just the best I know
how. Ma _didn't_ say it, nor agree with it, and I'm going to make it as
easy as I can for her before I go. Will we ever be like they are?" she
asked herself half seriously, and felt sure it could not be. "Ma has
always insisted on things and never lets pa nor the rest of us forget
anything or lay it down. I believe a woman can manage those things. Aunt
Susan does."

As Elizabeth started to the house, she noticed her father and the boys
coming from the cornfield with a wagon-load of snapped corn. Joe drove the
team and his father sat in the back with his feet dangling over the
end-gate. They were turning into the barnyard when she discovered them.

With her hair floating about her like a veil, she started at once for the
barn. She could not talk this out with her mother listening, and if she
did not do it now it would be forced upon her at supper, when her father
was certain to be in his worst mood. Mr. Farnshaw always came to the table
tired.

Seeing Elizabeth coming toward him, Mr. Farnshaw dropped from the wagon
and went to fill the swill pails. The hogs knew they were to be fed and
set up their usual noisy clamour. It was his purpose to divert their
attention till the boys could drive the wagon into the corral, hoping also
to leave his daughter where she could not approach him. Mr. Farnshaw
delighted in making people wait. With a pail in either hand he advanced to
the fence. The hogs left the gate and ran to meet him, upsetting the
trough as they came. Setting the pails down, he snatched up a peeled osage
stick, kept outside of the pen for that purpose, and belaboured angrily
the snouts sticking over the fence. The pigs were hungry and persistent.
By the time they were beaten into a respectable awe and had backed away
squealing, Mr. Farnshaw discovered his daughter at his elbow. He had
intended to ignore her; he turned red with rage. With a look of infinite
contempt, he stooped and picked up a pail.

"What a racket they do make," she remarked, smiling at him without
offence.

In spite of her smiling manner, Elizabeth was half sick with apprehension.
It was not a propitious time to approach him, but Mr.