I always feels as if I was being pulled two different ways , when he does . '' Back in the kitchen at home Mrs. Bell was waiting for her husband to bring the horse to the door . She was a slight , dark-eyed little woman , with thin , vivid-red cheeks . From out of the swathings in which she had wrapped her bonnet , her face gleamed sad and troubled . Now and then she sighed heavily . The cat came to her from under the stove , languidly stretching himself , and yawning until all the red cavern of his mouth and throat was revealed . At the moment he had an uncanny resemblance to Elder Joseph Blewett of White Sands -- Roaring Joe , the irreverent boys called him -- when he grew excited and shouted . Mrs. Bell saw it -- and then reproached herself for the sacrilege . `` But it 's no wonder I 've wicked thoughts , '' she said , wearily . `` I 'm that worried I ai n't rightly myself . If he would only tell me what the trouble is , maybe I could help him . At any rate , I 'd KNOW . It hurts me so to see him going about , day after day , with his head hanging and that look on his face , as if he had something fearful on his conscience -- him that never harmed a living soul . And then the way he groans and mutters in his sleep ! He has always lived a just , upright life . He has n't no right to go on like this , disgracing his family . '' Mrs. Bell 's angry sob was cut short by the sleigh at the door . Her husband poked in his busy , iron-gray head and said , `` Now , mother . '' He helped her into the sleigh , tucked the rugs warmly around her , and put a hot brick at her feet . His solicitude hurt her .
It was all XXXXX her material comfort .
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