Tom's protesting exclamation did not stop her.

I laid my knife and fork on my plate and folded my hands in my lap to
hide their trembling.

Time may dim many hurts, but with the last flicker of intelligence I
shall remember that scene. Even then, in a flash, I saw the symbolism
of it.

On one side--rare mahogany, shining silver, deft servants, napkins to
rumple, leisure for the niceties of life. On the other hand--a log
cabin, my tired mother with new babies always coming, father slaving to
homestead a claim and push civilization a little farther over our
American continent.

A great tenderness for my parents filled my heart and overflowed in my
eyes. I have, I confess, had moments of bitterness toward them. But
that was not one of them.

"I think I can tell you," I answered, as quietly as I could. "It 's
very simple. I was the first baby, and mother cut up my food for me.
After a while she cut up food for two babies. By the time the third
came, I had to do my own cutting. Naturally, I did it just as mother
had. Then I began to help cut up food for the other babies. It 's a
baby habit. And I must now learn to cut one bite at a time like a
civilized grown person."

Even Aunt Elizabeth was silenced. But Tom rose from the table,
swearing. My father would not have permitted a cowpuncher to use such