extras of souse and
headcheese. Snow had fallen already; and winter was setting in betimes,
the knowing ones said.

So came one Sunday a little before Christmas. It brought a lull in the
midst of the pork business. Hands were washed finally for the whole
day, and the kitchen "redd up." The weariness of Diana's nerves
welcomed the respite; for business, which oftimes is a help to bearing
pain, in some moods aggravates it at every touch; and Diana was glad to
think that she might go into her own room and lock the door and be
alone with her misery. The day was cloudy and threatening, and Mrs.
Starling had avowed her purpose not to go to church. She was "tuckered
out," she said. "And I am sure the Sabbath was given us for rest."
Diana made no answer; she was washing up the breakfast things.

"I guess we ain't early, neither," Mrs. Starling went on. "Well--one
day in seven, folks must sleep; and I didn't get that headcheese out of
my hands till 'most eleven o'clock. I guess it's first-rate, Diana;
we'll try a bit this noon. Who's that stoppin'?--Will Flandin, if I see
straight; that's thoughtful of him; now he'll take you to church, Di."

Will he? thought Diana. Flandin came in. Dressed in his Sunday best he
always seemed to Diana specially lumbering and awkward; and to-day his
hair was massed into smoothness by means of I know not what bountiful
lubrication, which looked very greasy and smelt very strong of cloves.
His necktie was blue with yellow spots; about the right thing, Will
thought; it was strange what a disgust it gave Diana. What's in a
necktie?

"Goin' to snow, Will?" asked Mrs. Starling.

"Wall--guess likely. Not jes' yet, though."

"Your mother got through with her pork?"

"Wall--I guess not. Seems to me, ef she was through, there wouldn't be
so many pickle tubs round."

"Good weight?"

"Wall--fair."

"Our'n's better than that. Tell you what, Will, your pigs don't get the
sunshine enough."

"Don't reckon they know the difference," said Will, smiling and
glancing over towards Diana; but Diana was gone. "Were you calculatin'
to go to meetin' to-day, Mis' Starling?"

"Guess not to-day, Will. I'm gettin' too old to work seven days in a
week--in pork-killin' time, anyhow. I'm calculatin' to stay home.
Diana's always for goin', though; she's gone to get ready, I guess. She
ain't tired."

Silence. Diana's room was too far off for them to hear her moving
about, and Mrs. Starling sat down and stretche