You had better go with father"-- this to the young man who still stood by the kitchen door.
"Leave the rest of the chores until after meetin'," suggested the father, somewhat reluctantly, to be sure, but in concession to Dorian's presence.
"I can't go to meeting either," said Dorian.

"I'm not dressed for it, so I'll keep Carlia company, if you or she have no objections." "Well, I've no objections, but I don't like you to miss your meetin's." "We'll be good," laughed Dorian.
"But--" "Come, father," the mother prompted, "you know I can't walk fast in this hot weather." Carlia got another pail, and she and Dorian went back to the corral.
"Let me milk," offered Dorian.
"No; you're strange, and she'd kick you over the fence." "O, I guess not," he remarked; but he let the girl finish her milking.
He again carried the milk back; he also took the "slop" to the pigs and threw the hay to the horses, while the girl gave the new milk to the butting calf; then back to the house where they strained the milk.

Then the young man was sent into the front room while the girl changed from work to Sunday attire.
The front room was very hot and uncomfortable.

The young man looked about on the familiar scene.

There were the same straight-backed chairs, the same homemade carpet, more faded and threadbare than ever, the same ugly enlarged photographs within their massive frames which the enterprising agent had sold to Mrs.Duke.There was the same lack of books or music or anything pretty or refined; and as Dorian stood and looked about, there came to him more forcibly than ever the barrenness of the room and of the house in general.