Not a sister moved or spoke. They all sat as if glued to their chairs,
in a silence that was fast growing appalling.

Abe turned his head and looked behind his chair for an explanation; but
nothing met his eye, save the familiar picture on the wall of two white
kittens playing in the midst of a huge bunch of purple lilacs.

Then there broke upon the stillness the quavering old voice of Aunt
Nancy, from her place opposite Abe's at the head of the board. The aged
dame had her two hands clasped before her on the edge of the table,
vainly trying to steady their palsied shaking. Her eyes, bright,
piercing, age-defying, she fixed upon the bewildered Abraham with a look
of deep and sorrowful reproach. Her unsteady head bobbed backward and
forward with many an accusing nod, and the cap with its rakish pink bow
bobbed backward and forward too. Abe watched her, fascinated,
unconsciously wondering, even in the midst of his disquietude, why the
cap did not slide off her bald scalp entirely. To his amazement, she
addressed not himself, but Angy.

"Sister Rose, yew kin leave the room." Implacable purpose spoke in Aunt
Nancy's tone. Angy started, looked up, going first red and then white;
but she did not move. She opened her lips to speak.

"I don't want ter hear a word from yew, nor anybody else," sternly
interposed Aunt Nancy. "I'm old enough ter be yer mother. Go up-stairs!"

Angy's glance sought Miss Abigail, but the matron's eyes avoided hers.
The little wife sighed, rose reluctantly, dropped her hand doubtfully
reassuring on Abe's shoulder, and then went obediently to the door.