"Father and Mrs. Sassaman and I would like you all to come to dinner to-morrow. Every one. We're going to have turkey."
"We have no heart for gayety, Ellen," said Grandfather.
The two young men, with the healthy appetites of their age, had a second of inward rebellion against this decision, then they acquiesced. Perhaps it was his recollection of the Christmas dinner table with its handsomest white cloth with a red border, its smoking fowl, its hot mince pies, that made Matthew's voice still sharper, his words more cruel.
"You won't come, any of you?" whispered Ellen, her eyes seeking first one, then the other.
Leaving the picture in Matthew's hand she moved toward the door. To all she was a most precious creature about to slip away forever. Her grandfather leaned forward in his chair, pleading like an ancient prophet.
"Oh, Ellen, if you could only see the true light! There is only one thing worth while and that is peace with God. Not education, but your salvation should be your concern."
Matthew's attack was savage. A strange, fierce jealousy filled his narrow heart. Ellen had always obeyed him, she should obey him now!
"You aren't dressed properly. You should know better if Father doesn't."
Amos did not speak, but his eyes burned. If he might only talk to this poor lamb!
"You shan't speak against Father!" cried Ellen. "I don't see why we can't live at peace and love one another. It's wicked for Matthew to make Father feel badly. I would rather"--she knew that she was saying a monstrous thing, but it was true--"I would rather lose my soul than hurt any one like that. I wouldn't believe a religion that made me act like that. I wouldn't believe"--she was now too excited to know exactly what she was saying--"I wouldn't obey a God that wanted me to act like that. I--"
Her sentence unfinished, she got outside and shut the door between her and them. It was beginning to snow and it might be more than an hour before her father came, but she could not stay in the little house.
The snow thickened and twilight fell and she waited, pacing up and down, and feeling the chill of the raw night air through her whole body. She did not go beyond the turn of the road, nor would she start home, for then her father would go into the cottage to inquire for her and he might be met by reproaches and impertinence. Lights shone out from comfortable warm rooms in Ephrata; men returning from their work in the village to homes in the country and women laden with packages looked at her curiously; but she did not forsake her post, though she might have walked home easily.