"You're a hard woman, Mrs. Thayer, and I pity Barney because he's got
you for a mother," Charlotte said, in undaunted response to Deborah's
look.

"Well, you'll never have to pity yourself on that account," retorted
Deborah, without turning her head.

The door opened softly, and a girl of about Charlotte's age slipped
in. Nobody except Mrs. Barnard, who said, absently, "How do you do,
Rose?" seemed to notice her. She sat down unobtrusively in a chair
near the door and waited. Her blue eyes upon the others were so
intense with excitement that they seemed to blot out the rest of her
face. She had her blue apron tightly rolled about both hands.

Deborah Thayer, on her way to the door, looked at her as if she had
been a part of the wall, but suddenly she stopped and cast a glance
at Cephas. "What be you makin'?" she asked, with a kind of scorn at
him, and scorn at her own curiosity.

Cephas did not reply, but he looked ugly as he slapped another piece
of dough heavily upon a plate.

Deborah, as if against her will, moved closer to the table and bent
over the pan of sorrel. She smelled of it; then she took a leaf and
tasted it, cautiously. She made a wry face. "It's sorrel," said she.
"You're makin' pies out of sorrel. A man makin' pies out of sorrel!"

She looked at Cephas like a condemning judge. He shot a fiery glance
at her, but said nothing. He sprinkled the sorrel leaves in the pie.