l spring morning air. So early in the day,
with no stir of life except the birds in sight or sound, the new
grass and flowering branches and blooming distances seemed like the
unreal heaven of a dream; and, indeed, nothing save their own dire
strait of life was wholly tangible and met them but with shocks of
unfamiliar things.

Jerome, out in the yard, took his sister by both arms, piteously
slender and cold through their thin gingham sleeves, and shook her
hard, and shook her again.

"Jerome Edwards, what--you doin'--so--for?" she gasped.

"'Ain't you got anything to you? 'Ain't you got anything to you at
all?" said Jerome, fiercely.

"I--don't know what you mean! Don't, Jerome--don't! Oh, Jerome, I'm
'fraid you're crazy, like mother?"

"'Ain't you got enough to you," said Jerome, still shaking her as if
she had not spoken, "to control your feelin's and do up the housework
nice, and not kill mother?"

"Yes, I will--I'll be just as good as I can. You know I will. Don't,
Jerome! I 'ain't cried before mother this mornin'. You know I
'ain't."

"You cried loud enough, just now in the shed, so she could hear you."

"I won't again. Don't, Jerome!"

"You're 'most a grown-up woman," said Jerome, ceasing to shake his
sister, but holding her firm, and looking at her with sternly
admonishing eyes. "You're 'most as old as I be, and I've got to take
care of you all. It's time you showed it if there's anything to you."

"Oh, Jerome, you look just like father," whispered Elmira, suddenly,
with awed, fascinated eyes on his face.

"Now you go in and wash up the dishes, and sweep the kitchen, and
make up the beds, and don't you cry before mother or say anything to
pester her," said Jerome.

"What you goin' to do, Jerome?" Elmira asked, timidly.

"I'm goin' to take care of the horse and finish plantin' them beans
first."

"What you goin' to do then?"

"Somethin'--you wait and see." Jerome spoke with his first betrayal
of boyish weakness, for a certain importance crept into his tone.

Elmira instinctively recognized it, and took advantage of it. "Ain't
you goin' to ask mother, Jerome Edwards?" she said.

"I'm goin' to do what's best," answered Jerome; and again that
uncanny gravity of authority which so awed her was in his face.

When he again bade her go into the house and do as he said, she
obeyed with a longing, incredulous look at him.

Jerome had not eaten much breakfast; indeed, he had not finished when
Elm