That was the lever by which she could pry Elizabeth loose from her
seated conviction that nothing could be done. Those sentiments had been
_Elizabeth's_, not her mother's. Something was due the mother who had been
compelled to share the blame for words as abhorrent to her as they were to
the irate husband who supposed she had instigated them. Elizabeth knew
that her mother would never have a day of peace with the man in any case,
but she knew from her own experience with him that a remark such as she
had made would be used to worry her mother and to stir even more bitter
accusations than usual. In her heart she knew that nothing she could say
would change her father's feelings or alter his belief about the matter,
but she did feel that her mother was justified from her own standpoint in
making the demand. As she stirred the cake dough and pondered, she glanced
across the table to the open door of her mother's scantily furnished
bedroom opposite. A vision of ruffled pillow-shams where she was soon to
sleep came to her in strong contrast. The memory of muffled sobs which she
had heard coming from that poverty-stricken couch in the corner opposite
the door was set over against the peaceful look of the room which was to
be hers. She was going away to be happy: why not do this thing her mother
asked before she went? Elizabeth knew that her attempt at reconciliation
would be fruitless, but she resolved to do the best she could to leave all
possible comfort to the mother whose portion was sorrow and bread eaten in
bitterness and disappointment. She thought it out slowly. After pondering
a long time, during which Mrs. Farnshaw studied her but did not speak,
Elizabeth delivered her promise.

"I'll do the best I can, ma. I don't believe It'll do any good, but it
isn't fair that you should suffer for a thing you hate as bad as he does.
Don't let's talk about it, and let me find my own time to do it.
I'll--I'll do my very best."

Pushing the cake-bowl away from her, she went around the table, and taking
her mother's face between her hands she stroked the thin hair away from
the wasted forehead, and kissed her with a tenderness which brought a
quiver to the unsatisfied lips.

"I'll do it as well as I possibly know how. I--I'm going away to be happy,
and--and I want you to be happy too."

It was easier to say than to do, for things went wrong about the barn, and
when supper time arrived Elizabeth decided to wait for a more propiti