e
gate, her step-mother was standing on the porch with one hand on her hip
and the other shading her eyes from the slanting sun--waiting for her.
Already kindness and consideration were gone.

"Whar you been, June? Hurry up, now. You've had a long restin'-spell
while I've been a-workin' myself to death."

It was the old tone, and the old fierce rebellion rose within June, but
Hale had told her to be patient. She could not check the flash from her
eyes, but she shut her lips tight on the answer that sprang to them, and
without a word she went to the kitchen for the milking-pails. The cows
had forgotten her. They eyed her with suspicion and were restive. The
first one kicked at her when she put her beautiful head against its soft
flank. Her muscles had been in disuse and her hands were cramped and
her forearms ached before she was through--but she kept doggedly at her
task. When she finished, her father had fed the horses and was standing
behind her.

"Hit's mighty good to have you back agin, little gal."

It was not often that he smiled or showed tenderness, much less spoke it
thus openly, and June was doubly glad that she had held her tongue. Then
she helped her step-mother get supper. The fire scorched her face, that
had grown unaccustomed to such heat, and she burned one hand, but
she did not let her step-mother see even that. Again she noticed
with aversion the heavy thick dishes and the pewter spoons and the
candle-grease on the oil-cloth, and she put the dishes down and, while
the old woman was out of the room, attacked the spots viciously. Again
she saw her father and Bub ravenously gobbling their coarse food while
she and her step-mother served and waited, and she began to wonder. The
women sat at the table with the men over in the Gap--why not here? Then
her father went silently to his pipe and Bub to playing with the kitten
at the kitchen-door, while she and her mother ate with never a word.
Something began to stifle her, but she choked it down. There were the
dishes to be cleared away and washed, and the pans and kettles to be
cleaned. Her back ached, her arms were tired to the shoulders and her
burned hand quivered with pain when all was done. The old woman had left
her to do the last few little things alone and had gone to her pipe.
Both she and her father were sitting in silence on the porch when June
went out there. Neither spoke to each other, nor to her, and both seemed
to be part of the awful stilln