"'Thalia can have pretty nearly anything she wants."
And even as he said it he had a sudden, vague misgiving:
if she didn't have everything she wanted, perhaps she would
be happier? But the idea was too new and too subtle to follow up,
so the result of that troubled hour in the mill-chamber was
only that he made no very resolute objection to Athalia's
acceptance of Eldress Hannah's permission to come.
It had been given grudgingly enough.


The family were gathered in the sitting-room; they had had their supper--
the eight elderly women and the three elderly men, all that were left
of the community. The room had the austere and shining cleanness
which Athalia had called a perfume, but it was full of homely comfort.
A blue-and-white rag carpet in the centre left a border of bare floor,
painted pumpkin-yellow; there was a glittering airtight stove with
isinglass windows that shone like square, red eyes; a gay patchwork
cushion in the seat of a rocking-chair was given up to the black cat,
whose sleek fur glistened in the lamplight. Three of the sisters
knitted silently; two others rocked back and forth, their tired,
idle hands in their laps, their eyes closed; the other three yawned,
and spoke occasionally between themselves of their various tasks.
Brother Nathan read his weekly FARMER; Brother William turned over
the leaves of a hymn-book and appeared to count them with noiseless,
moving lips; Brother George cut pictures out of the back of
a magazine, yawning sometimes, and looking often at his watch.
Into this quietness Eldress Hannah's still voice came:

"I have heard from Lydia again." There was a faint stir, but no
one spoke. "The Lord is dealing with her," Eldress Hannah said;