[Footnote: From "A New England Nun and Other Stories," by Mary E.
Wilkins Freeman. Copyright, 1891, by Harper & Bros. Reprinted by
special permission.]
"Father!"
"What is it?"
"What are them men diggin' over there in the field for?"
There was a sudden dropping and enlarging of the lower part of the
old man's face, as if some heavy weight had settled therein; he
shut his mouth tight, and went on harnessing the great bay mare.
He hustled the collar on to her neck with a jerk.
"Father!"
The old man slapped the saddle upon the mare's back.
"Look here, father, I want to know what them men are diggin' over
in the field for, an' I'm goin' to know."
"I wish you'd go into the house, mother, an' 'tend to your own
affairs," the old man said then. He ran his words together, and
his speech was almost as inarticulate as a growl.
But the woman understood; it was her most native tongue. "I ain't
goin' into the house till you tell me what them men are doin' over
there in the field," said she.
Then she stood waiting. She was a small woman, short and straight-
waisted like a child in her brown cotton gown. Her forehead was
mild and benevolent between the smooth curves of gray hair; there
were meek downward lines about her nose and mouth; but her eyes,
fixed upon the old man, looked as if the meekness had been the
result of her own will, never of the will of another.
They were in the barn, standing before the wide-open doors. The
spring air, full of the smell of growing grass and unseen
blossoms, came in their faces. The deep yard in front was littered
with farm wagons and piles of wood, on the edges, close to the
fence and the house, the grass was a vivid green, and there were
some dandelions.
The old man glanced doggedly at his wife as he tightened the last
buckles on the harness. She looked as immovable to him as one of
the rocks in his pastureland, bound to the earth with generations
of blackberry vines. He slapped the reins over the horse, and
started forth from the barn.
"FATHER!" said she.