Caleb had been milking; the cows had been refractory as he drove them from pasture, and he was late.
"Supper's been ready half an hour," his wife said, when he entered.
"The heifer run down the old road when I was a-drivin' of her home, an' I had to chase her," Caleb returned, meekly, settling down in his arm-chair at the table.
"I guess that heifer wouldn't cut up so every night if I had the drivin' of her," remarked Deborah.

She filled a plate with toast and passed it over to Caleb.
Caleb set it before him, but he did not begin to eat.

He looked at Rebecca's empty place, then at his wife's face, long and pale and full of stern rancor, behind the sugar-bowl and the cream-pitcher.
"Rebecca got home ?" he ventured, with wary eyes upon her.
"Yes, she's got home." Caleb winked, meekly.

"Ain't she comin' to supper ?" "I dunno whether she is or not." "Does she know it's ready ?" Deborah vouchsafed no reply.

She poured out the tea.
Caleb grated his chair suddenly.