carven comb arose from her Sunday kerchief with a like carriage. She
and her mother did not look alike, but their motions were curiously
similar, and perhaps gave evidence to a subtler resemblance in
character and motive power.

Ephraim, undersized for his age, in his hitching, home-made clothes,
twisted himself about when Barnabas entered, and stared at him with
slow regard. He eyed the smooth, scented hair, the black satin vest
with a pattern of blue flowers on it, the blue coat with brass
buttons, and the shining boots, then he whistled softly under his
breath.

"Ephraim!" said his mother, sharply. She had a heavy voice and a
slight lisp, which seemed to make it more impressive and more
distinctively her own. Caleb read on ponderously.

"Where ye goin', Barney?" Ephraim inquired, with a chuckle and a
grin, over the back of his chair.

"Ephraim!" repeated his mother. Her blue eyes frowned around his
sister at him under their heavy sandy brows.

Ephraim twisted himself back into position. "Jest wanted to know
where he was goin'," he muttered.

Barnabas stood by the window brushing his fine bell hat with a white
duck's wing. He was a handsome youth; his profile showed clear and
fine in the light, between the sharp points of his dicky bound about
by his high stock. His cheeks were as red as his sister's.