$he was worn and wasted incredibly. The blue of her eyes seemed dimmed and faded by weeping, and the oldtime scariet of her lips had been washed away. The sinews of her neck showed painfully when she turned her head, and her trembling hands were worn, discolored, and lumpy at the joints.
Poor girl! She felt that she was under scrutiny, and her eyes felt hot and restless. She wished to run away and cry, but she dared not.
She stayed, while Will began to tell her of his life and to ask questions about old friends.
The old people took it up and relieved her of any share in it; and Will, seeing that she was suffering, told some funny stories which made the old people cackle in spite of themselves.
But it was forced merriment on Will's part. Once in a while Agnes smiled with just a little flash of the old-time sunny temper. But there was no dimple in the cheek now, and the smile had more suggestion of an invalid~r even a skeleton. He was almost ready to take her in his arms and weep, her face appealed so pitifully to him.
"It's most time f'r Ed to be gittin' back, ain't it' Pa?"
"Sh'd say 'twas! He jist went over to Hobkirk's to trade horses. It's dretful tryin' to me to have him go off tradin' horses on Sunday.
Seems if he might wait till a rainy day, 'r do it evenin's. I never did believe in horse tradin' anyhow."
"Have y' come back to stay, Willie?" asked the old lady.
"Well-it's hard-tellin'," answered Will, looking at Agnes.
"Well, Agnes, ain't you goin' to get no dinner? I'm 'bout ready fr dinner. We must git to church eariy today. Elder Wheat is goin' to preach an' they'll be a crowd. He's goin' to hold communion."
"You'll stay to dinner, Will?" asked Agnes.
"Yes-if you wish it."
"I do wish it."
"Thank you; I want to have a good visit with you. I don't know when I'll see you again."
As she moved about, getting dinner on the table, Will sat with gloomy face, listening to the "clack" of the old man. The room was a poor little sitting room, with furniture worn and shapeless; hardly a touch of pleasant color, save here and there a little bit of Agnes's handiwork. The lounge, covered with calico, was rickety; the rocking chair matched it, and the carpet of rags was patched and darned with twine in twenty places. Everywhere was the influence of the Kinneys. The furniture looked like them, in fact.
Agnes was outwardly calm, but her real distraction did not escape Mrs. Kinney's hawklike eyes.
"Well, I declare if you hain't put the butter on in one o' my blue chainy saucers! Now you know I don't allow that saucer to be took down by nobody. I don't see what's got into yeh. Anybody'd s'pose you never see any comp'ny b'fore-wouldn't they, Pa?"
"Sh'd say th' would," said Pa, stopping short in a long story about Ed. "Seems if we couldn't keep anything in this' house sep'rit from the rest. Ed he uses my currycomb-"
He launched out a long list of grievances, which Will shut his ears to as completely as possible, and was thinking how to stop him, when there was a sudden crash. Agnes had dropped a plate.
"Good land o' Goshen!" screamed Granny. "If you ain't the worst I ever see. I'll bet that's my grapevine plate. If it is-well, of all the mercies, it ain't! But it naight 'a' ben. I never see your beat-never!
That's the third plate since I came to live here."
"Oh, look-a-here, Granny," said Will desperately. "Don't make so much fuss about the plate. What's it worth, anyway? Here's a dollar."
Agnes cried quickly:
"Oh, don't do that, Will! It ain't her pate. It's my plate, and I can break every plate in the house if I want'o," she cried defiantly.
"'Course you can," Will agreed.
"Well, she can't! Not while I'm around," put in Daddy. "I've helped to pay f'r them plates, if she does call 'em hern-"
"What the devul is all this row about? Agg, can't you get along without stirring up the old folks everytime I'm out o' the house?"
The speaker was Ed, now a tail and slouchily dressed man of thirty-two or -three; his face still handsome in a certain dark, cleanly cut style, but he wore a surly loo'k and lounged along in a sort of hangdog style, in greasy overalls and vest unbuttoned.
"Hello, Will! I heard you'd got home. John told me as I came along."
They shook bands, and Ed slouched down on the lounge. Will could have kicked him for laying the blame of the dispute upon Agnes; it showed him in a flash just how he treated her. He disdained to quarrel; he simply silenced and dominated her.
Will asked a few questions about crops, with such grace as he could show, and Ed, with keen eyes in his face, talked easily and stridently.
"Dinner ready?" he asked of Agnes. "Where's Pete?"
"He's asleep."
"All right. Let 'im sleep. Well, let's go out an' set 'up. Come, Dad, sling away that Bible and come to grub. Mother, what the devul are you sniffling at? Say, now, look here. If I hear any more about this row, I'll simply let you walk down to meeting. Come, Will, set up."
He led the way out into the little kitchen where the dinner was set.
"What was the row about? Hain't been breakin' some dish, Agg?"
"Yes, she has."
"One o' the blue ones?" winked Ed.
"No, thank goodness, it was a white one."
"Well, now, I'll git into that dod-gasted cubberd some day an' break the whole eternal outfit. I ain't goin' to have this damned jawin' goin' on," he ended, brutally unconscious of his own "jawin'."
After this the dinner proceeded in comparative silence, Agnes sobbing under breath. The room was small and very hot; the table was warped so badly that the dishes had a tendency to slide to the center; the walls were bare plaster grayed with time; the food was poor and scant, and the flies absolutely swarmed upon everything, like bees. Otherwise the room was clean and orderly.
"They say you've made a pile o' money out West, Bill. I'm glad of it. We fellers back here don't make anything. It's a dam tight squeeze. Agg, it seems to me the flies are devilish thick today.
Can't you drive 'em out?"
Agnes felt that she must vindicate herself a little. "I do drive 'em out, but they come right in again. The screen door is broken, and they come right in."
"I told Dad to fix that door."
