“It’s a pity people aren’t contented in ’the station to which God has called them,’ as the English prayer book says,” continued Arthur, not catching sensitive Adelaide’s warning frown.

“If your mother and I had been content,” said Hiram, “you and Delia would be looking for places in the canning factory.”  The remark was doubly startling—­for the repressed energy of its sarcasm, and because, as a rule, Hiram never joined in the discussions in the family circle.

They were at the table, all except Mrs. Ranger.  She had disappeared in the direction of the kitchen and presently reappeared bearing a soup tureen, which she set down before her husband.  “I don’t dare ask Mary to wait on the table,” said she.  “If I did, she’s just in the humor to up and light out, too; and your mother’s got no hankering for hanging over a hot stove in this weather.”

She transferred the pile of soup plates from the sideboard and seated herself.  Her husband poured the soup, and the plates were passed from hand to hand until all were served.  “If the Sandyses could see us now, Del,” said Arthur.

“Or the Whitneys,” suggested Adelaide, and both laughed as people laugh when they think the joke, or the best part of it, is a secret between themselves.

Nothing more was said until the soup was finished and Mrs. Ranger rose and began to remove the dishes.  Adelaide, gazing at the table, her thoughts far away, became uneasy, stirred, looked up; she saw that the cause of her uneasiness was the eyes of her father fixed steadily upon her in a look which she could not immediately interpret.  When he saw that he had her attention, he glanced significantly toward her mother, waiting upon them.  “If the Sandyses or the Whitneys could see us now!” he said.

She reddened, pushed back her chair, and sprang up.  “Oh, I never thought!” she exclaimed.  “Sit down, mother, and let me do that.  You and father have got us into awful bad ways, always indulging us and waiting on us.”

“You let me alone,” replied her mother.  “I’m used to it.  I did my own work for fifteen years after we were married, and I’d have been doing it yet if your father hadn’t just gone out and got a girl and brought her in and set her to work.  No; sit down, Del.  You don’t know anything about work.  I didn’t bring you up to be a household drudge.”

But Del was on her way to the kitchen, whence she presently reappeared with a platter and a vegetable dish.  Down the front of her skirt was a streak of grease.  “There!” exclaimed Mrs. Ranger, coloring high with exasperation, “your dress is spoiled!  I don’t believe I can take it out of that kind of goods without leaving a spot.  Hiram, I do wish you wouldn’t meddle with the children!  It seems to me you’ve got enough to do to ’tend your own affairs at the mill.”

This was unanswerable, or so it seemed to her husband.  Once more he felt in the wrong, when he knew that, somehow, he was in the right.