"I don't care if they be!" she answered in the same dully-irritated way. "What're they comin' here to-day for, I wan' to know." She stayed there immovably, till Mrs. Council came down to see her, piloted by two or three of the children. Mrs. Council, a jolly, large-framed woman, smiled brightly, and greeted her in a loud, jovial voice. She made the mistake of taking the whole matter lightly; her tone amounted to ridicule. "Sim says you've been having a tantrum, Creeshy. Don't know what for, he says." "He don't," said the wife with a sullen flash in the eyes. "_He_ don't know why! Well, then, you just tell him what I say. I've lived in hell long enough. I'm done. I've slaved here day in and day out f'r twelve years without pay--not even a decent word. I've worked like no nigger ever worked 'r could work and live. I've given him all I had, 'r ever expect to have. I'm wore out. My strength is gone, my patience is gone. I'm done with it--that's a _part_ of what's the matter." "My sakes, Lucreeshy! You mustn't talk that way." "But I _will_," said the woman, as she supported herself on one palm and raised the other. "I've _got_ to talk that way." She was ripe for an explosion like this. She seized upon it with eagerness. "They aint no use o' livin' this way, anyway. I'd take poison if it want f'r the young ones." "Lucreeshy Burns!" "Oh, I mean it." "Land sakes alive, I b'leeve you're goin' crazy!" "I shouldn't wonder if I was. I've had enough t' drive an Indian crazy. Now you jest go off an' leave me 'lone. I aint in mind to visit--they aint no way out of it, an' I'm tired o' tryin' to _find_ a way. Go off an' let me be." Her tone was so bitterly hopeless that the great jolly face of Mrs. Council stiffened into a look of horror such as she had not worn for years. The children, in two separate groups, could be heard rioting. Bees were humming around the clover in the grass, and the kingbird chattered ceaselessly from the Lombardy poplar-tip. Both women felt all this peace and beauty of the morning, dimly, and it disturbed Mrs. Council because the other was so impassive under it all. At last, after a long and thoughtful pause, Mrs. Council asked a question whose answer she knew would decide it all,--asked it very kindly and softly,-- "Creeshy, are you comin' in?" "No," was the short and sullenly decisive answer. Mrs. Council knew that was the end, and so rose with a sigh and went away. "Wal, good by," she said simply. Looking back she saw Lucretia lying at length with closed eyes and hollow cheeks. She seemed to be sleeping, half-buried in the grass. She did not look up nor reply to her sister-in-law. Her life also was one of toil and trouble, but not so hard and hapless as Lucretia's. By contrast with most of her neighbors she seemed comfortable. "Sim Burns, what you ben doin' to that woman?" she burst out as she waddled up to where the two men were sitting under a cotton-wood tree, talking and whittling after the manner of farmers.