always been what Starkfield called "sickly," and Frome had to admit
that, if she were as ailing as she believed, she needed the help of
a stronger arm than the one which lay so lightly in his during the
night walks to the farm. Mattie had no natural turn for
housekeeping, and her training had done nothing to remedy the
defect. She was quick to learn, but forgetful and dreamy, and not
disposed to take the matter seriously. Ethan had an idea that if she
were to marry a man she was fond of the dormant instinct would wake,
and her pies and biscuits become the pride of the county; but
domesticity in the abstract did not interest her. At first she was
so awkward that he could not help laughing at her; but she laughed
with him and that made them better friends. He did his best to
supplement her unskilled efforts, getting up earlier than usual to
light the kitchen fire, carrying in the wood overnight, and
neglecting the mill for the farm that he might help her about the
house during the day. He even crept down on Saturday nights to scrub
the kitchen floor after the women had gone to bed; and Zeena, one
day, had surprised him at the churn and had turned away silently,
with one of her queer looks.

Of late there had been other signs of her disfavour, as intangible
but more disquieting. One cold winter morning, as he dressed in the
dark, his candle flickering in the draught of the ill-fitting
window, he had heard her speak from the bed behind him.

"The doctor don't want I should be left without anybody to do for
me," she said in her flat whine.

He had supposed her to be asleep, and the sound of her voice had
startled him, though she was given to abrupt explosions of speech