and pinched,--the
whole face shaded by the eternal sun-bonnet, which never left her head
from early sunrise till late bedtime (no Sandy woman is ever seen
without her sun-bonnet). All these were perpetual annoyances to me; they
made me discontented without knowing why; they filled me with disgust, a
disgust which my respect for her good qualities could not overcome.

And then our life, how dreary! The rising in the cold, gray dawn to
prepare the breakfast of corn-dodgers and bacon for my father and his
men,--the spreading the table-cloth, stained with the soil-spots of
yesterday's meal,--the putting upon it the ugly, unmatched
crockery,--the straggling-in of the unwashed, uncombed men in their
coarse working-clothes, redolent of the week's unwholesome toil,--their
washings, combings, and low talk close by my side,--the varied uses to
which our household utensils were put,--the dipping of dirty knives into
the salt and of dirty fingers into the meat-dish,--all filled me then,
and fill me now, with loathing.

There was a relief when the men left the house; but then came the dreary
"slicking-up," almost more disgusting, in its false, superficial show of
cleanliness, than had been the open carelessness of the workmen.

But there was no time for rest; my step-mother's sharp, high-pitched
voice was heard calling, "Janet!" and I followed her to the garden to
dig the potatoes from the hills or to the cornfield to pull and husk the
three dozen ears of corn which made our chief dish at dinner. Then came
the week's washing, the apple-peeling, the pork-salting, work varied
only with the varying season, until the blowing of the horn at twelve
brought back the men to dinner, after which came again the clearing up,
again the day's task, and again the supper.

I often thought that the men around us were always more cheerful and
merry than the women. They worked as hard, they endured as many
hardships, but they had, certainly, more pleasures. There was the
evening lounge by the fire in winter, the sitting on the fence or at the
door-step in summer, when, pipe or cigar in mouth, knife and
whittling-stick in hand, jest and gibe would pass round among them, and
the boisterous laugh would go up, reaching me, as I lay, tired out, on
my little cot, or leaned disconsolate at my garret-window, looking with
longing eyes far out into the darkness of the woods. No such
gatherings-together of the women did I ever see. If one of our neighbors
d