The Wings of Morning

"Take the wings of Morning."

Kate Bates followed the narrow footpath rounding the corner of the
small country church, as the old minister raised his voice slowly
and impressively to repeat the command he had selected for his
text. Fearing that her head would be level with the windows, she
bent and walked swiftly past the church; but the words went with
her, iterating and reiterating themselves in her brain. Once she
paused to glance back toward the church, wondering what the
minister would say in expounding that text. She had a fleeting
thought of slipping in, taking the back seat and listening to the
sermon. The remembrance that she had not dressed for church
deterred her; then her face twisted grimly as she again turned to
the path, for it occurred to her that she had nothing else to wear
if she had started to attend church instead of going to see her
brother.

As usual, she had left her bed at four o'clock; for seven hours
she had cooked, washed dishes, made beds, swept, dusted, milked,
churned, following the usual routine of a big family in the
country. Then she had gone upstairs, dressed in clean gingham and
confronted her mother.

"I think I have done my share for to-day," she said. "Suppose you
call on our lady school-mistress for help with dinner. I'm going
to Adam's."

Mrs. Bates lifted her gaunt form to very close six feet of height,
looking narrowly at her daughter.

"Well, what the nation are you going to Adam's at this time a-
Sunday for?" she demanded.