spring. Charlotte looked at the white and rosy masses of bloom.

"I guess there wasn't any frost last night, after all," she remarked.

"I dunno," responded Sylvia, in a voice which made her niece look
around at her. There was a curious impatient ring in it which was
utterly foreign to it. There was a frown between Sylvia's gentle
eyes, and she moved with nervous jerks, setting down dishes hard, as
if they were refractory children, and lashing out with spoons as if
they were whips. The long, steady strain upon her patience had not
affected her temper, but this last had seemed to bring out a certain
vicious and waspish element which nobody had suspected her to
possess, and she herself least of all. She felt this morning disposed
to go out of her way to sting, and as if some primal and evil
instinct had taken possession of her. She felt shocked at herself,
but all the more defiant and disposed to keep on.

"Breakfast is ready," she announced, finally; "if you don't set right
up an' eat it, it will be gettin' cold. I wouldn't give a cent for
cold Injun cake."

Charlotte arose promptly and brought a chair to the table, which
Sylvia always set punctiliously in the centre of the kitchen as if
for a large family.

"Don't scrape your chair on the floor that way; it wears 'em all
out," cried Sylvia, sharply.

Charlotte stared at her again, but she said nothing; she sat down and
began to eat absently. Sylvia watched her angrily between her own