r house was only one story high, and there were no
chambers. A number of little bedrooms were clustered around the three
square rooms--the north and south parlors, and the great kitchen.
Barnabas walked out of his bedroom straight into the kitchen where
the other members of the family were. They sat before the hearth fire
in a semi-circle--Caleb Thayer, his wife Deborah, his son Ephraim,
and his daughter Rebecca. It was May, but it was quite cold; there
had been talk of danger to the apple blossoms; there was a crisp
coolness in the back of the great room in spite of the hearth fire.
Caleb Thayer held a great leather-bound Bible on his knees, and was
reading aloud in a solemn voice. His wife sat straight in her chair,
her large face tilted with a judicial and argumentative air, and
Rebecca's red cheeks bloomed out more brilliantly in the heat of the
fire. She sat next her mother, and her smooth dark head with its
carven comb arose from her Sunday kerchief with a like carriage. She
and her mother did not look alike, but their motions were curiously
similar, and perhaps gave evidence to a subtler resemblance in
character and motive power.
Ephraim, undersized for his age, in his hitching, home-made clothes,
twisted himself about when Barnabas entered, and stared at him with
slow regard. He eyed the smooth, scented hair, the black satin vest
with a pattern of blue flowers on it, the blue coat with brass
buttons, and the shining boots, then he whistled softly under his
breath.
"Ephraim!" said his mother, sharply. She had a heavy voice and a
slight lisp, which seemed to make it more impressive and more
distinctively her own. Caleb read on ponderously.
"Where ye goin', Barney?" Ephraim inquired, with a chuckle and a
grin, over the back of his chair.
"Ephraim!" repeated his mother. Her blue eyes frowned around his
sister at him under their heavy sandy brows.
Ephraim twisted himself back into position. "Jest wanted to know
where he was goin'," he muttered.
Barnabas stood by the window brushing his fine bell hat with a white
duck's wing. He was a handsome youth; his profile showed clear and
fine in the light, between the sharp points of his dicky bound about
by his high stock. His cheeks were as red as his sister's.
When he put on his hat and opened the door, his mother herself
interrupted Caleb's reading.
"Don't you stay later than nine o'clock, Barnabas," said she.
The young man murmured something unint
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