"The cold winds swept the mountain-height,
And pathless was the dreary wild,
And mid the cheerless hours of night
A mother wandered with her child:
As through the drifting snows she pressed,
The babe was sleeping on her breast."--Seba Smith.
The head of the house was home from his mysterious errand, the real
object of which was unknown to all but Marthy and his wife.
Kate unwound his muffler and took his cap; his wife assured him that
she had been worried to death about him all day; the men inquired
solicitously about his journey--how had he stood the cold--and Anna
made ready his place at the table. But neither this domestic adulation
nor the atmosphere of warmth and affection awaiting him at his own
fireside served for a moment to turn him from the wanton brutality that
he was pleased to dignify by the name of duty.
Anna could not help feeling the "snub," and David, whose eyes always
followed Anna, saw it before the others. "Father," said he, "what's
the matter, you don't speak to Anna."
"I don't want to speak to her. I don't want to look at her. I don't
want anything to do with her," replied the Squire. Every one except
Martha and Mrs. Bartlett was startled by this blunt, almost brutal
outburst.
"I am glad you are all here, the more the better: Marthy, Professor,
Mr. Sanderson, glad to see you and all the home folks"--he had a word,
a nod, a pat on the back for every one but Anna, and though she sought
more than one opportunity to speak to him, he deliberately avoided her.
His wife, who knew all the varying weathers of his temper was using all
her small stock of diplomacy to get him to eat his supper. "When in
doubt about a man, feed him," had been Louisa Bartlett's unfailing rule
for the last thirty years. "Here, Amasy, sit down in your place that
Anna has fixed for you. You can talk after you've had your tea. Anna,
please make the Squire some fresh tea. I'm afraid this is a little
cool."
"She need not make my tea, now, or on any future occasion--her days of
service in my family are done for." And he hammered the table with his
clenched fist.
Anna closed her eyes; it had come at last; she had always known that it
was only a question of time.
The rest looked at the Squire dumbfounded. Ah, that is, but Marthy.
She was licking her lips in delightful anticipation--with much the same
expression as a cat would regard an uncaged canary.