She’s gone, so that’s that—and let’s say no more about it.”

“But Mother…”

The boy’s cry rang out, high and puzzled. His mother interrupted him.

“Now no more! Come and have your tea! Come on. Sit ye down!”

Obediently the boy went to his place at the table. The woman turned to the man at the fireplace.

“Come on, Sam, and eat. Though Lord knows, it’s poor enough stuff to set out for tea…”

The woman grew quiet as her husband rose with an angry suddenness. Then, without speaking a word, he strode to the door, took his cap from a peg, and went out. The door slammed behind him. For a moment after, the cottage was silent. Then the woman’s voice rose, scolding in tone.

“Now, see what ye’ve done! Got thy father all angry. I suppose ye’re happy now.”

Wearily she sat in her chair and stared at the table. For a long time the cottage was silent. Joe knew it was unfair of his mother to blame him for what was happening. Yet he knew, too, that it was his mother’s way of covering up her own hurt. It was exactly the same as her scolding. That was the way with the people in those parts. They were rough, stubborn people, used to living a rough, hard life. When anything happened that touched their emotions, they covered up their feelings. The women scolded and chattered to hide their hurts. They did not mean anything by it. After it was over …

“Come on, Joe. Eat up!”

His mother’s voice was soft and patient now.

The boy stared at his plate, unmoving.

“Come on, Joe. Eat your bread and butter. Look—nice new bread, I just baked today. Don’t ye want it?”

The boy bent his head lower.

“I don’t want any,” he said in a whisper.

“Oh, dogs, dogs, dogs,” his mother flared. Her voice rose in anger again. “All this trouble over one dog. Well, if ye ask me, I’m glad Lassie’s gone. That I am. As much trouble to take care of as a child! Now she’s gone, and it’s done with, and I’m glad—I am. I’m glad!”

Mrs.