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“What are they diggin’ for, mother?” said she.”Did he tell you?”

“They’re diggin’ for — a cellar for a new barn.”

“Oh, mother, he ain’t goin’ to build another barn?”

“That’s what he says.”

A boy stood before the kitchen glass combing his hair. He combed slowly and painstakingly, arranging his brown hair in a smooth hillock over his forehead. He did not seem to pay any attention to the conversation.

“Sammy, did you know father was goin’ to build a new barn?” asked the girl.

The boy combed assiduously.

“Sammy!”

He turned, and showed a face like his father’s under his smooth crest of hair.”Yes, I s’pose I did,” he said, reluctantly.

“How long have you known it?” asked his mother.

“‘Bout three months, I guess.”

“Why didn’t you tell of it?”

“Didn’t think ‘twould do no good.”

“I don’t see what father wants another barn for,” said the girl, in her sweet slow voice. She turned again to the window, and stared out at the digging men in the field. Her tender sweet face was full of a gentle distress. Her forehead was as bald and innocent as a baby’s, with the light hair strained back from it in a row of curl-papers. She was quite large, but her soft curves did not look as if they covered muscles.

Her mother looked sternly at the boy.”Is he goin’ to buy more cows?” said she.

The boy did not reply; he was tying his shoes.

“Sammy, I want you to tell me if he’s goin’ to buy more cows.”

“I s’pose he is.”