utting two days into one, if it ain't standing close?"

The man spoke impetuously, the words tumbling recklessly one over the
other, and the little girl's sobs were tumbling in the same way;
neither seemed inclined to stop the other.

"What'd I stand in front of Simonses show-window last night for,
looking at them posies they've got for Easter, if 'twasn't because I'd
liked to have brought the hull lot home? And why didn't I bring 'em
home? Just so as I could slip more money this month in under the
little bank winder. And what am I slippin' money into the bank for?
Why'd I buy them Jersey cows, and that bit o' mountain park, if
'twasn't because I knowed Jerusha was the best butter-maker in town,
and butter meant money, and money meant an easy time for you by and
by? Standin' close!"

The man's voice broke. The little girl had ceased crying and was
standing with wide, strained eyes fastened on her father. What did it
all mean?

But the father did not say what it meant. As one suddenly overtaken,
he pushed the cat from off his lap, rose, drew a long breath, and
reached for his hat.

Had Martha Matilda been older, she would have tried to detain the one
she had wounded. For he was wounded, just as are we all when suddenly
there comes to us knowledge of long-continued effort being
unappreciated. What was the use of all this struggling, beginning with
the day and closing only when it was ended! He pulled an oat straw
from a stack near, and then leaned on the bars of the cow-yard. Far
beyond him were the snow-caps, now pink with the setting sun--the glow
which the one gone from him had so loved to catch. His throat ached
with suppressed emotion. He had striven so to stand true, to make the
life of the child she had left easier than hers had been, just as he
had promised!

The cows crowded up restlessly against the bars. It was milking time.
Mechanically he returned to the kitchen, brought back with him the
pails, placed a stool and sent the tinkling streams against the shiny
pail. Pail after pail was filled and set aside, then with a gentle pat
for the last meek-eyed Jersey, he brought the milk back to the house,
strained it carefully, filled a saucer for the cat at his feet, rinsed
the pails, and after the cows had been cared for for the night, went
back and hung his hat on its accustomed nail. He crossed to the window
where Martha sat stiff and uncomfortable in the big rocking-chair.
Sitting down in front of her, he