Night Birds On Nantucket by Joan Aiken

Dido lay for a moment trying to think why Aunt Tribulation’s voice had sounded so familiar. Then she too fell deep asleep.
    She need not have worried about how they were to wake; there were three roosters on the farm whose lustycrowing had the girls roused long before any touch of dawn had crossed the sky. Dressing themselves hastily in warm things – Dido put on the denims and red shirt she had bought – they groped their way downstairs.
    They lit the potbellied stove, staggered in from the pump with a bucket of water between them, fed the animals, and were just making the gruel when a loud thumping on the floor overhead proclaimed that Aunt Tribulation was awake. Pen went up to see what she wanted and was greeted with the words:
    â€˜Where’s my breakfast? You’re ten minutes late.’
    â€˜I – I’m very sorry, Aunt Tribulation.’
    â€˜Sorry! Sorry’s not good enough. Don’t forget to scald the coffee pot. And clear the coffee with eggshells. And when you’ve brought me my breakfast and washed the dishes and towels, you can scrub the kitchen floor and dust the parlour. Then you’ll have to make some bread. And that other girl can hoe the potato field.’
    â€˜Huh,’ Dido said when this programme was unfolded to her. ‘Don’t she want us to cut down no trees? Or slap a few bricks together and put up a new barn? Anyhows I’m a-going to have some breakfast before I start on that lot. Here, I’ll take up the old girl’s prog, Pen; I’ve fried you some eggs; sit down and get ’em inside you, you look like a bit o’ cheesecloth.’
    Aunt Tribulation received her breakfast tray without enthusiasm. ‘Wash your face before you come up another time, girl,’ she said harshly. ‘And where’s my napkin? You should have used the pink china, this is kitchen stuff.’
    â€˜Lookahere, you ungrateful old cuss,’ burst out Dido, her patience at an end, ‘you oughta be thankful I didn’tbring it up in a baking-pan! Lord bless us, am I glad you ain’t
my
Aunt Trib.’
    She ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
    To Dido’s great surprise and relief, Pen proved a handy little creature with the indoor tasks; she had been taught by her mother to wash and bake and cook and polish; ‘which it’s as well,’ Dido admitted, ‘for I never could abide housework and I don’t know a waffle-iron from a skillet; if I’d a had to make the bread it’d turn out tougher’n old boots. It beats all how you get it to rise so, Pen. You’ll have to teach me; one thing, housework ain’t so bad when it’s just us on our own. In fact it’s quite a lark. Pity the old gal couldn’t go back to wherever she came from.’
    â€˜Oh Dido,’ confessed Pen – they were out of earshot of Aunt Tribulation now, sociably hoeing the enormous potato field together, ‘she frightens me
dreadfully
! Her eyes glare so – at least I’m sure they do behind her glasses! And her voice is so angry and scolding. I’m sure I shall never get used to her.’
    â€˜Now, now, Pen,’ Dido admonished. ‘Remember as how you’re learning to be brave? Every morning when you get up you must say twenty times, “I am not scared of Auntie Trib.” You’d best start now.’
    â€˜I am not scared of Auntie Trib,’ Pen said obediently. But then she broke out, ‘It’s no use, Dido, I
am
scared of her!’
    â€˜Well, we’ll have to get you out o’ the habit,’ Dido said stoutly. ‘You watch me, see how I stand up to the old sulphur-bottom.’
    Pen gulped, nodding, but she looked apprehensive.
    â€˜Do you remember her now you see her again, Penny?’ Dido asked. ‘Is she like she was when you was small?’
    â€˜Just as frightening,’ Pen said. ‘But I don’t really remember her much. It was