Nora gave her brother a quick glance. It was on the tip of her tongue to
ask what he meant by Frank's last day, but seeing that Taylor was
watching her with an amused smile, she held her tongue. Getting up, she
began clearing away the table.

Hornby, ramming the tobacco into his pipe, went over to the corner by
the stove, where Gertie was scalding out her large dishpan, and tried to
interest her in the number of logs he had split since breakfast, without
conspicuous success.

Trotter stood looking out of the window, while Marsh stretched himself
lazily in one of the rocking chairs with a sigh of content. Things were
beginning to shake down a little better. There had been a time yesterday
when he feared that everything was off. He knew Nora's temper of old and
he knew his wife's jealous fear of her criticism. It would take some
rubbing to wear off the sharp corners. But things were coming out all
right, after all. They'd soon be working together like a well-broken
team. Gertie had been nasty about the bread. But apparently everything
was patched up. And with Frank once gone, and the new chap--a man of the
Trotter type, who would never obtrude himself--he foresaw that
everything would run on wheels, an idea dear to his peace-loving soul.

Not that he was not sorry to lose Frank. In the first place, he liked
him, and then he was a good, steady, hard-working fellow, one of the
kind you didn't have to stand over. But, naturally, he wanted to get
back to his own place, now that he had saved up a bit. Every man liked
being his own master.

Taylor alone had remained at his place at the table. Nora had cleared
away everything except the dishes at his place. She never went near him