"
"How does David bear up?" asked Miss Vilda.
"Oh, he's calm. David was always calm and resigned, you know. He shed
tears durin' the remarks, but I s'pose, mebbe, he was wishin' they was
more appropriate. He's about the forlornest creeter now you ever see' in
your life. There never was any self-assume to David Milliken. I declare
it's enough to make you cry jest to look at him. I cooked up victuals
enough to last him a week, but that ain't no way for men-folks to live.
When he comes in at noon-time he washes up out by the pump, 'n' then he
steps int' the butt'ry 'n' pours some cold tea out the teapot 'n' takes
a drink of it, 'n' then a bite o' cold punkin pie 'n' then more tea, all
the time stan'in' up to the shelf 'stid o' sittin' down like a
Christian, and lookin' out the winder as if his mind was in Hard
Scrabble 'n' his body in Buttertown, 'n' as if he didn't know whether he
was eatin' pie or putty. Land! I can't bear to watch him. I dassay he
misses Lyddy's jawin',--it must seem dretful quiet. I declare it seems
to me that meek, resigned folks, that's too good to squeal out when
they're abused, is allers the ones that gits the hardest knocks; but I
don't doubt but what there's goin' to be an everlastin' evenupness
somewheres."
Samantha got up suddenly and went to the sink window. "It's 'bout time
the men come in for their dinner," she said. But though Jabe was mowing
the millstone hill, and though he wore a red flannel shirt, she could
not see him because of the tears that blinded her eyes.
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