sister in the presence of the Harkeys.

Mrs. Jim came up to the house to stay as Emma got too ill to work, and
took charge of the house. The children hated her fiercely, and there
were noisy battles in the kitchen constantly wearing upon the nerves of
the sick woman who lay in the restricted gloom of the sitting room
bed-chamber, within hearing of every squall.

There were moments of peace only when Ike was in the house. Smooth as he
was, Jim's wife was afraid of him. There was something compelling in his
low-toned voice; his presence subdued but did not remove strife.

His silencing of the tumult hardly arose out of any consideration for
his wife, but rather from his inability to enjoy his paper while the
clamor of war was going on about him.

He was not a tender man, and yet he prided himself on being a very calm
and even-tempered man. He kept out of Bill's way, and considered himself
entirely justified in his position regarding the cow-bell. It is
doubtful if he would have accepted an apology.

Emma suffered acutely from Mrs. Harkey's visits. Something mean and
wearying went out from her presence, and her sharp, bold face was a
constant irritation. Sometimes when she thought herself alone, Emma
crawled to the window which looked up the Coolly, toward Sarah's home,
and sat there silently longing to send out a cry for help. But at the
sound of Jane Harkey's step she fled back into bed like a frightened
child.

She became more and more childish and more flighty in her thoughts as
her time of trial drew near, and she became more subject to her jailer.
She grew morbidly silent, and her large eyes were restless and full of
pleading.

One day she heard Mrs. Smith talking out in the kitchen.

"How is Emmy to-day, Mrs. Jim?"

"Well, not extry. She ain't likely to come out as well as usual this
time, I don't think," was the brutally incautious reply; "she's pretty
well run down, and I wouldn't be surprised if she had some trouble."

"I suppose Sarah will be down to help you," said Mrs. Smith.

"Well, I guess not--not after what she's told."

"What has she told?" asked Mrs. Smith, in her sweet and friendly voice.

"Why, she said she wouldn't set foot in this house if we all _died_."

"I never heard her say that, and I don't believe she ever _did_ say it,"
said Mrs. Smith, firmly.

Emma's heart glowed with a swift rush of affection toward her sister and
Mrs. Smith; she wanted to cry out her faith in Sarah, but s