And from pantry to table she stepped, swiftly and lightly, setting out what was needed, greased her pans and set them before her, and proceeded to make biscuit.

Her mother watched her admiringly. "How easy you do it!" she said. "I never could make bread without getting flour all over me. You don't spill a speck!"

Diantha smiled. "I ought to do it easily by this time. Father's got to have hot bread for supper--or thinks he has!--and I've made 'em--every night when I was at home for this ten years back!"

"I guess you have," said Mrs. Bell proudly. "You were only eleven when you made your first batch. I can remember just as well! I had one of my bad headaches that night--and it did seem as if I couldn't sit up! But your Father's got to have his biscuit whether or no. And you said, 'Now Mother you lie right still on that sofa and let me do it! I can!' And you could!--you did! They were bettern' mine that first time--and your Father praised 'em--and you've been at it ever since."

"Yes," said Diantha, with a deeper note of feeling than her mother caught, "I've been at it ever since!"

"Except when you were teaching school," pursued her mother.

"Except when I taught school at Medville," Diantha corrected. "When I taught here I made 'em just the same."

"So you did," agreed her mother. "So you did! No matter how tired you were--you wouldn't admit it. You always were the best child!"

"If I was tired it was not of making biscuits anyhow. I was tired enough of teaching school though. I've got something to tell you, presently, Mother."

She covered the biscuits with a light cloth and set them on the shelf over the stove; then poked among the greasewood roots to find what she wanted and started a fire. "Why _don't_ you get an oil stove? Or a gasoline? It would be a lot easier."

"Yes," her mother agreed. "I've wanted one for twenty years; but you know your Father won't have one in the house. He says they're dangerous.

What are you going to tell me, dear? I do hope you and Ross haven't quarrelled."

"No indeed we haven't, Mother. Ross is splendid. Only--"

"Only what, Dinah?"

"Only he's so tied up!" said the girl, brushing every chip from the hearth. "He's perfectly helpless there, with that mother of his--and those four sisters."

"Ross is a good son," said Mrs. Bell, "and a good brother. I never saw a better. He's certainly doing his duty. Now if his father'd lived you two could have got married by this time maybe, though you're too young yet."

Diantha washed and put away the dishes she had used, saw that the pantry was in its usual delicate order, and proceeded to set the table, with light steps and no clatter of dishes.

"I'm twenty-one," she said.

"Yes, you're twenty-one," her mother allowed. "It don't seem possible, but you are. My first baby!" she looked at her proudly.

"If Ross has to wait for all those girls to marry--and to pay his father's debts--I'll be old enough," said Diantha grimly.

Her mother watched her quick a.s.sured movements with admiration, and listened with keen sympathy. "I know it's hard, dear child. You've only been engaged six months--and it looks as if it might be some years before Ross'll be able to marry. He's got an awful load for a boy to carry alone."

"I should say he had!" Diantha burst forth. "Five helpless women!--or three women, and two girls. Though Cora's as old as I was when I began to teach. And not one of 'em will lift a finger to earn her own living."

"They weren't brought up that way," said Mrs. Bell. "Their mother don't approve of it. She thinks the home is the place for a woman--and so does Ross--and so do I," she added rather faintly.

Diantha put her pan of white puff-b.a.l.l.s into the oven, sliced a quant.i.ty of smoked beef in thin shavings, and made white sauce for it, talking the while as if these acts were automatic. "I don't agree with Mrs.

Warden on that point, nor with Ross, nor with you, Mother," she said, "What I've got to tell you is this--I'm going away from home. To work."

Mrs. Bell stopped rocking, stopped fanning, and regarded her daughter with wide frightened eyes.

"Why Diantha!" she said. "Why Diantha! You wouldn't go and leave your Mother!"

Diantha drew a deep breath and stood for a moment looking at the feeble little woman in the chair. Then she went to her, knelt down and hugged her close--close.

"It's not because I don't love you, Mother. It's because I do. And it's not because I don't love Ross either:--it's because I _do._ I want to take care of you, Mother, and make life easier for you as long as you live. I want to help him--to help carry that awful load--and I'm going--to--do--it!"

She stood up hastily, for a step sounded on the back porch. It was only her sister, who hurried in, put a dish on the table, kissed her mother and took another rocking-chair.

"I just ran in," said she, "to bring those berries. Aren't they beauties? The baby's asleep. Gerald hasn't got in yet. Supper's all ready, and I can see him coming time enough to run back. Why, Mother!

What's the matter? You're crying!"

"Am I?" asked Mrs. Bell weakly; wiping her eyes in a dazed way.

"What are you doing to Mother, Diantha?" demanded young Mrs. Peters.

"Bless me! I thought you and she never had any differences! I was always the black sheep, when I was at home. Maybe that's why I left so early!"

She looked very pretty and complacent, this young matron and mother of nineteen; and patted the older woman's hand affectionately, demanding, "Come--what's the trouble?"

"You might as well know now as later," said her sister. "I have decided to leave home, that's all."

"To leave home!" Mrs. Peters sat up straight and stared at her. "To leave home!--And Mother!"

"Well?" said Diantha, while the tears rose and ran over from her mother's eyes. "Well, why not? You left home--and Mother--before you were eighteen."

"That's different!" said her sister sharply. "I left to be married,--to have a home of my own. And besides I haven't gone far! I can see Mother every day."

"That's one reason I can go now better than later on," Diantha said.

"You are close by in case of any trouble."

"What on earth are you going for? Ross isn't ready to marry yet, is he?"

"No--nor likely to be for years. That's another reason I'm going."

"But what _for,_ for goodness sake."

"To earn money--for one thing."

"Can't you earn money enough by teaching?" the Mother broke in eagerly.

"I know you haven't got the same place this fall--but you can get another easy enough."

Diantha shook her head. "No, Mother, I've had enough of that. I've taught for four years. I don't like it, I don't do well, and it exhausts me horribly. And I should never get beyond a thousand or fifteen hundred dollars a year if I taught for a lifetime."

"Well, I declare!" said her sister. "What do you _expect_ to get? I should think fifteen hundred dollars a year was enough for any woman!"

Diantha peered into the oven and turned her biscuit pan around.

"And you're meaning to leave home just to make money, are you?"

"Why not?" said Diantha firmly. "Henderson did--when he was eighteen.