d must be prepared
for. The hair that had been washed was braided, the mother's tears dried,
and every member of the family pressed into the service. The entire house
was cleaned and rearranged. Not till after midnight did the members of the
little group seek their beds. Mr. Farnshaw had not returned. They had even
forgotten him a large part of the time in the hurry. Elizabeth regarded
the half dozen bruises which her sleeves would not cover with alarm when
she was at last ready to climb her ladder. Joe covered them with a
liniment which he brought from the barn. As he set the dusty bottle on the
kitchen table after the anointing had been done, he remarked dryly:

"Wonder if you an' me 'll ever do that kind of thing t' our young ones?
Everybody's always said we was like the old man."

"Take that nasty smellin' bottle out of here, an' don't begin any talk
about your pa. Everybody get t' bed," Mrs. Farnshaw commanded.

Even the absence of her husband could not dim the interest of Mrs.
Farnshaw in the coming spectacle of her daughter's marriage. With the
capacity of a little child to suffer from unkindness or neglect, she
combined the same child-like capability to enjoy pageantry of any sort.
Benches for curious neighbours surrounded Mrs. Farnshaw's bed when she
retired, and unaccustomed things filled every nook of the usually
unattractive room. Evergreen boughs stared at her from the corner opposite
her bed; the bed was to be removed in the morning. It had been her own
romantic idea to have a bower for the bride and groom. She had been so
busy making that bower that she had forgotten her own troubles for an hour
and more, but she remembered them now and her interest died out. With a
quivering indrawn breath she turned out the light and dived into the huge
feather-bed, smothering her sobs by crushing her pillow against her face.

Elizabeth, upstairs, had her own disappointments to go over, and her
mother's sobbing coloured her ruminations. Her vision had been cleared. In
spite of youth, and of humiliation, she saw that the blow that had undone
her had been accidental. She saw what the encouragement of temper would
lead to. She saw the gradual growth and stimulation of that temper in the
daily contentions of her father and mother.

She rubbed her bruises and thought long on the troubles about her.
Accusations and defence, she decided, were at the root of them. They were
the universal topics of the conversations at home a