When the last one was gone, and only the relatives from Ohio were left, mother pitched on the bed, gripped her hands and cried as if she'd go to pieces, and father cried too, and all of us, even Mrs.Freshett, who stayed to wash up the dishes.

She was so tickled to be there, and see, and help, that mother had hard work to keep her from washing the linen that same night.

She did finish the last dish, scrub the kitchen floor, black the stove, and pack all the borrowed china in tubs, ready to be taken home, and things like that.

Mother said it was a burning shame for any neighbourhood to let a woman get so starved out and lonesome she'd act that way.

She said enough was enough, and when Mrs.Freshett had cooked all day, and washed dishes until the last skillet was in place, she had done as much as any neighbour ought to do, and the other things she went on and did were a rebuke to us.
I felt sore, weepy, and tired out.