mouthfuls, which she swallowed down defiantly like medicine.

"It ain't much use cookin' things if folks don't eat 'em," said she.

"I am eating," returned Charlotte.

"Eatin'? Swallowin' down Injun cake as if it was sawdust! I don't
call that eatin'. You don't act as if you tasted a mite of it!"

"Aunt Sylvy, what has got into you?" said Charlotte.

"Got into me? I should think you'd talk about anything gettin' into
me, when you set there like a stick. I guess you 'ain't got all there
is to bear."

"I never thought I had," said Charlotte.

"Well, I guess you 'ain't."

They went on swallowing their food silently; the great clock ticked
slowly, and the spring birds called outside; but they heard neither.
The shadows of the young elm leaves played over the floor and the
white table-cloth. It was much warmer that morning, and the shadows
were softer.

Before they had finished breakfast, Charlotte's mother came,
advancing ponderously, with soft thuds, across the yard to the side
door. She opened it and peered in.

"Here you be," said she, scanning both their faces with anxious and