“There does, too, somethin’ ail you. I guess I know. Now, what is it? You might just as well spit it right out an’ be done with it.” Zarelda was silent. She began brushing her hair with a dingy brush from which tufts of bristles had been worn in several places. Her mother watched her patiently for a few moments, then she said—“Well, ’Reldy, be you goin’ to tell me what ails you?” Still there was no reply. “You ain’t turned off in the fact’ry, be you?” Zarelda shook her head. “Well, then,” said Mrs. Winser slowly, as if reluctantly admitting a thought that she had been repelling, “it’s somethin’ about Jim Sheppard.” The girl paled and brushed her hair over her face to screen it from her mother’s searching gaze. “Have you fell out with him?” “No, I ain’t fell out with him. Hadn’t you best eat your supper before it gets cold, maw?” “No, I hadn’t best. I ain’t a-goin’ to budge a blessed step out o’ this here room tell I know what ails you. Not if I have to stay here tell daylight.” After a brief reflection she added—“Now, don’t you tell me he’s been cuttin’ up any! I always said he was a fine young man, an’ I say so still.” “He ain’t been cuttin’ up any,” said Zarelda. “At least, not as I know of.” She laid down the brush and pushing her hair all back with both hands, fronted her mother suddenly, pale but resolute. “If you want to know so bad,” she said, “I’ll tell you. He’s threw off on me.” Mrs. Winser sunk helplessly into a chair. “Threw off on you!” she gasped. “Yes, threw off on me.” Zarelda kept her dry, burning eyes on her mother’s face. “D’ you feel any better for makin’ me tell it?” Certainly her revenge for the persecution was all that heart could desire. Her mother sat limp and motionless, save for the slow, mechanical sliding back and forth of one thumb on the arm of her chair. After a while Zarelda resumed the hair-brushing, calmly. Then her mother revived. “Who—who in the name of all that’s merciful has he took up with now?” she asked, weakly. “Em Brackett.” “What!” Mrs. Winser almost screamed. “That onery hussy! ’Reldy Winser, be you a-tellin’ me the truth?” “Yes, maw. He took her to the dance up at Canemah las’ night, an’ she told me about it this mornin’!” “The deceitful jade. Smiled sweet as honey at me when she went by. You’d of thought sugar wouldn’t melt in her mouth. I answered her ’s short as lard pie-crust—I’m glad of it now. Has he took her any place else?” “He took her walkin’ at noontime. Stepped right up when she was standin’ alongside o’ me an’ never looked at me, an’ ast her—right out loud so’s all of ’em could hear, too.” “Well, he’d ought to be ashamed of hisself! After bein’ your stiddy comp’ny for more’n a year—well onto two years—an’ a-lettin’ all of us think he was serious!” “He never said he was, maw.”