“That's different!” said her sister sharply. “I left to be married,--to have a home of my own. And besides I haven't gone far! I can see Mother every day.” “That's one reason I can go now better than later on,” Diantha said. “You are close by in case of any trouble.” “What on earth are you going for? Ross isn't ready to marry yet, is he?” “No--nor likely to be for years. That's another reason I'm going.” “But what _for,_ for goodness sake.” “To earn money--for one thing.” “Can't you earn money enough by teaching?” the Mother broke in eagerly. “I know you haven't got the same place this fall--but you can get another easy enough.” Diantha shook her head. “No, Mother, I've had enough of that. I've taught for four years. I don't like it, I don't do well, and it exhausts me horribly. And I should never get beyond a thousand or fifteen hundred dollars a year if I taught for a lifetime.” “Well, I declare!” said her sister. “What do you _expect_ to get? I should think fifteen hundred dollars a year was enough for any woman!” Diantha peered into the oven and turned her biscuit pan around. “And you're meaning to leave home just to make money, are you?” “Why not?” said Diantha firmly. “Henderson did--when he was eighteen. None of you blamed him.” “I don't see what that's got to do with it,” her mother ventured. “Henderson's a boy, and boys have to go, of course. A mother expects that. But a girl--Why, Diantha! How can I get along without you! With my health!” “I should think you'd be ashamed of yourself to think of such a thing!” said young Mrs. Peters. A slow step sounded outside, and an elderly man, tall, slouching, carelessly dressed, entered, stumbling a little over the rag-mat at the door. “Father hasn't got used to that rug in fourteen years!” said his youngest daughter laughingly. “And Mother will straighten it out after him! I'm bringing Gerald up on better principles. You should just see him wait on me!” “A man should be master in his own household,” Mr. Bell proclaimed, raising a dripping face from the basin and looking around for the towel--which his wife handed him. “You won't have much household to be master of presently,” said Mrs. Peters provokingly. “Half of it's going to leave.” Mr. Bell came out of his towel and looked from one to the other for some explanation of this attempted joke, “What nonsense are you talking?” he demanded. “I think it's nonsense myself,” said the pretty young woman--her hand on the doorknob. “But you'd better enjoy those biscuits of Di's while you can--you won't get many more! There's Gerald--good night!” And off she ran. Diantha set the plateful on the table, puffy, brown, and crisply crusted. “Supper's ready,” she said. “Do sit down, Mother,” and she held the chair for her. “Minnie's quite right, Father, though I meant not to tell you till you'd had supper. I am going away to work.”