I thought you and she never had any differences! I was always
the black sheep, when I was at home. Maybe that's why I left so early!"

She looked very pretty and complacent, this young matron and mother of
nineteen; and patted the older woman's hand affectionately, demanding,
"Come--what's the trouble?"

"You might as well know now as later," said her sister. "I have decided
to leave home, that's all."

"To leave home!" Mrs. Peters sat up straight and stared at her. "To
leave home!--And Mother!"

"Well?" said Diantha, while the tears rose and ran over from her
mother's eyes. "Well, why not? You left home--and Mother--before you
were eighteen."

"That's different!" said her sister sharply. "I left to be married,--to
have a home of my own. And besides I haven't gone far! I can see Mother
every day."

"That's one reason I can go now better than later on," Diantha said.
"You are close by in case of any trouble."

"What on earth are you going for? Ross isn't ready to marry yet, is he?"

"No--nor likely to be for years. That's another reason I'm going."

"But what _for,_ for goodness sake."

"To earn money--for one thing."

"Can't you earn money enough by teaching?" the Mother broke in eagerly.
"I know you haven't got the same place this fall--but you can get
another easy enough."

Diantha shook her head. "No, Mother, I've had enough of that. I've
taught for four years. I don't like it, I don't do well, and it exhausts
me horribly. And I should never get beyond a thousand or fifteen hundred
dollars a year if I taught for a lifetime."

"Well, I declare!" said her sister. "What do you _expect_ to get? I
should think fifteen hundred dollars a year was enough for any woman!"

Diantha peered into the oven and turned her biscuit pan around.

"And you're meaning to leave home just to make money, are you?"

"Why not?" said Diantha firmly. "Henderson did--when he was eighteen.
None of you blamed him."

"I don't see what that's got to do with it," her mother ventured.
"Henderson's a boy, and boys have to go, of course. A mother expects
that. But a girl--Why, Diantha! How can I get along without you! With my
health!"

"I should think you'd be ashamed of yourself to think of such a thing!"
said young Mrs. Peters.

A slow step sounded outside, and an elderly man, tall, slouching,
carelessly dressed, entered, stumbling a little over the rag-mat at the
door.

"Father hasn't got used to that rug in fourteen years!"