"There's been three here and that's enough! If he brings anybody
home, I'll take Patience and run away, as Job did; or if he
leaves me alone, I'll wash and iron and scrub and cook till
Patience grows up, and then we'll go off together and hide
somewhere. I'm fourteen; oh, mother, how soon could I be married
and take Patience to live with me? Do you think anybody will ever
want me?"

"Don't marry for a home, Waitstill! Your own mother did that, and
so did I, and we were both punished for it! You've been a great
help and I've had a sight of comfort out of the baby, but I
wouldn't go through it again, not even for her! You're real smart
and capable for your age and you've done your full share of the
work every day, even when you were at school. You can get along
all right."

"I don't know how I'm going to do everything alone," said the
girl, forcing back her tears. "You've always made the brown
bread, and mine will never suit father. I suppose I can wash, but
don't know how to iron starched clothes, nor make pickles, and
oh! I can never kill a rooster, mother, it's no use to ask me to!
I'm not big enough to be the head of the family."

Mrs. Baxter turned her pale, tired face away from Waitstill's
appealing eyes.

"I know," she said faintly. "I hate to leave you to bear the
brunt alone, but I must! . . . Take good care of Patience and
don't let her get into trouble. . . . You won't, will you?"