in Matt. âYou kinât go out—itâs snowinâ.â

He brushed past the pair and placed himself with his back to the door, his heart beating painfully. His motherâs mad threats were familiar enough, yet they never ceased to terrify. Some day she might really do something desperate. Who knew?

âIâm goinâ to drownd myself,â repeated Mrs. Strang, carefully winding the muffler round her head.

She made a step towards the door, sweeping the limp Harriet roughly behind her.

âYou kinât get out,â Matt said, firmly. âWhy, you hevnât hed breakfast yet.â

âWhat do I want oâ breakfus? Your sister is breakfus ânough for me. Clear out oâ the way.â

âDonât you let her go, Matt!â cried Harriet. âIâll quit instead.â

âYou!â exclaimed her mother, turning fiercely upon her, while her eyes spat fire. âYou are young and wholesome—the world is afore you. You were not brought from a great town to be buried in a wilderness. Marry your Preeps anâ your Micmacs, and nurse your pappooses. God has cursed me with froward children anâ a cripple, anâ a husband that goes gallivantinâ onchristianly about the world with never a thought for his âmortal soul, anâ the Lord has doomed me to worship Him in the wrong church. Mother yourselves; I throw up the position.â

âIs it my fault if father hesnât wrote you lately?â cried Harriet. âIs it my fault if thereâs no Baptist church to Cobequid village?â

âShut your mouth, you brazen hussy! Youâve drove your mother to her death! Stand out oâ my way, Matthew; donât you disobey my dyinâ requesâ.â

âI shaânât,â said the boy, squaring his shoulders firmly against the door. âWhere kin you drownd yourself? The pondâs froze anâ the tideâs out.â

He could think of no other argument for the moment, and he had an incongruous vision of her sliding down to the river on her stomach, as the boys often did, down the steep, reddish-brown slopes of greasy mud, or sinking into a squash-hole like an errant horse.