"If I can't get around to that churning, I'll just let it go if it does sour," she decided at last.

When Hugh came back she set him to work at the carpet and went to the kitchen to look after things there. Nathan had offered to keep Jack when he heard of the unexpected work his mother was going to have thrust upon her, and Hugh, remembering Elizabeth's relieved expression when he had offered to bring the child, was only too glad to leave him in such good hands.

"How long is that child going to stay at Hornby's?" John demanded the next morning. He set the heavy cream jar on the table and faced Elizabeth, who was kneading the bread on the big bread-board which rested on the top of the flour barrel.

"I don't know--till Uncle Nate gets time to bring him home to-day, I suppose."

Elizabeth did not look up.

"Well, I don't want this thing to happen again. A child that age has no business away from home. What was your idea, anyhow?"

"Ask Hugh. I didn't have anything to do with it. I didn't even know it till he got back. He knew you had engaged the sh.e.l.lers without giving me any notice, and he knew I had too much for any woman to do. Uncle Nate knew it too. Go on, and don't bother me this morning; I'm so tired I can't talk about it, anyhow."

John Hunter was instantly apologetic.

"Oh, well, if Hugh did it I suppose he meant well. He got off all right. I look for some results with that Mitch.e.l.l County land if he goes into it right. I'll send the cattle down as soon as he has time to get the fences in line and a man to look after them. I brought this cream up; it won't keep any longer."

John lifted the lid of the cream jar and sniffed with disapproval. "I'll just put it into the churn for you."

"Oh, dear! what did you bring it up for to-day? I can't churn with all I've got to do. Take it back."

"It won't keep!"

"Well--I can't churn, and I won't, so there! I've got all I can do to-day.

I should not have let it go, but the cleaning dragged so; besides, I didn't know I was going to have all these men to-day and I thought I could get it done. Take it back. I can't have the churn around in the way to-day. I've never let a churning go to waste in my life, but if this gets too sour it won't cost any more than to have hired a girl to help with the work this week. Go on, and take it to the cellar and let me alone."

Elizabeth turned her back to show him that the argument was over, and did not see that he went out without it, leaving it on the back of the one small kitchen table she had. The pies she had just finished baking were ready to be taken from the oven, and when she turned to put them on the table she was confronted by the cream jar. The table was not large and she must have room for the food to be cooked that day, so Elizabeth lifted the heavy jar from the table and, after the pies were out, brought the churn.

She could not carry it to the cellar again and there was no other way.

The sour cream refused to yield, and the girl churned on and on while she watched the dinner cook. The dinner boiled and bubbled, and the stove was working as actively in the kitchen as the corn-sh.e.l.ler was doing in the barnyard, when Nathan set Jack in the doorway and followed him in. Nathan sniffed appreciatively.

"Smells pretty good in here," he said, and then surveying the room in surprise added, "What on earth be you churnin' for? Ain't you got enough t' do, child?"

Elizabeth stooped to gather Jack into her arms and made no reply.

"It's as hot as th' devil in here," Nathan said, taking his coat off.

"Here let me have a turn at that churn. You ought t' be in bed. That's where Sue'd put you if she was here."

He took the dasher into his own hand and began a brave onslaught on the over-sour cream. The b.u.t.ter gave signs of coming, but would not gather. He churned, and the sweat of his brow had to be wiped frequently to keep it from where he would literally have it to eat; it ran down inside his p.r.i.c.kly blue flannel shirt, it stood out on his hair, hands and arms like dew on the morning gra.s.s, and the old man looked out to the wheezing corn-sh.e.l.ler and envied the men working in the cool breeze where life and courage could be sustained while one laboured.

"I wouldn't be a woman for fifty dollars a day," he announced with grim conviction. "It'd make a devil out of anybody t' work in this h.e.l.l-hole.

No wonder you're s' peeked, child."

John came back to the house almost immediately after leaving it to go to work in the afternoon.

"You'll have to bake more pies, Elizabeth. The men have been put back by a breakdown. They won't be able to get through before five or half-past," he said, coming into the kitchen to investigate the larder.

"They can't?" Elizabeth exclaimed, longing for the rest she had planned to get after the dinner work was finished.

"No. It's too bad, but it can't be helped. Now you get the oven going and I'll come in and help you about beating the eggs. You'll have to make custard pie, I guess, for there ain't enough fruit to make any more.

Hurry, and I'll be in in a few minutes."

"I'm not going to make any more pies to-day," Elizabeth replied.

"You'll have to. Men like pies better than anything you could put on the table. How are you off for meat? Have you chicken enough left or shall I bring up a ham?"

Elizabeth faced this second meal with a dread she could not have expressed; she was so tired that she could scarcely stand; her back ached, and there was a strange pain pulling at her vitals.

"I'll attend to the supper. Go right on out of here. I am not going to bake any more pies. You crowded that churning on me this morning and you'd make my work double what it ought to be if I let you help. Go on!"

John brushed past her and lifted the bread-box.

The fierce heat of the cook stove, the pain in her back, the certain knowledge of suggestions to come, broke down the poise the girl was trying to maintain.

"I don't want any remarks about that bread-box! I've got sense enough to get supper. Go on out to your own work and let me attend to mine."

John Hunter stepped back in astonishment. He had been sympathetic, and had really wanted to be helpful. He was insulted and struck an att.i.tude intended to convey the fact, but his wife closed the oven door with a bang and left the room without looking at him.

John punished his wife that night by letting her wash the supper dishes alone.

The next morning John continued to be aloof of manner and went to his work without attempting to empty the skimmed milk as usual, or to strain the new milk which stood at the top of the long cellar stairs. Elizabeth skimmed and strained and put the shelves in order. Her head ached, and her back never ceased hurting. When the last crock had been carried from the cave, the half-sick girl dragged herself to the bedroom and threw herself down on the unmade bed.

"I don't care--I won't do another stroke till I feel better, if it's never done. It wasn't nice for me to scold yesterday when he really wanted to help, but he makes so much extra work that I _can't_ get it all done. It don't hurt him any more to be scolded than it does me to be kept on my feet after everything in my body is pulling out. He won't run off again and leave me to carry that heavy milk. I don't know why I didn't just leave it."

Elizabeth did not realize that she had done more than waste useful strength on useless tasks. She had yet to find out that it would have been cheaper to have left the entire contents of the cellar to sour or mould than to have worked on after she could do no more in comfort. It took Doctor Morgan to point out to her that farmers and their wives place undue value on a dollar's worth of milk, and that they support those of his profession at a far greater price than their b.u.t.ter would cost if they fed the milk to the pigs; also that they fill the asylums with victims and give younger women the chance to spend what they have worked to save after they are transplanted to other regions. They had been obliged to send for the doctor at noon.

The name of peritonitis did not impress the young wife with any importance when the old doctor warned her to lie still and rest. The fierce pain was eased by getting off her feet and she was so glad to rest that she took his advice, but she had had no illness and little experience with chronic ailments. He hoped to pull her through without the threatened disaster, but warned her solemnly.

"I'm glad we have you where you can't carry anything more out of that confounded hole in the ground," he said savagely. "You'd never quit till you were down, anyhow. Now don't you lift that child, no matter whether he cries or not."

He took John aside and talked to him seriously about his wife, and demanded that there be a hired girl procured. John listened as seriously and went to the kitchen and got the supper and prepared for breakfast. He worked diligently and took Elizabeth a dainty bite to eat, but when the question of a girl came up, he had his own say about that.

"I'll do the work in this house till you can get around yourself, but I never intend to look for a girl in this country again. You'll be stronger after a bit and then you can look for one."

He put Jack's nightgown over his little head and b.u.t.toned it in the back while he talked.

"This 'll pa.s.s over, and You'll be better in a week's time. I don't care if you have two girls, so I don't have to hunt them. Here, Jack, let me slip that shoe off."

"I can't seem to get well, though, with the drag of the housework on my mind," the girl said drearily.

Elizabeth wanted a woman in the kitchen. She lay without speaking for a moment, thinking that as usual she was unable to get the thing that her own judgment demanded. John would wash his dishes clean and keep the cooking and sweeping done as well as she, but she knew that the first day she would be out of bed she would be dragged to the kitchen to consult and oversee continually.

"Doctor Morgan said I might not be able to get around much all summer,"

she ventured, exaggerating the words of the old doctor somewhat in her determination to get help at all costs that would leave her free to get well.

"At least you can wait and see," John replied indifferently, already concerned with his own problems. He pushed Jack from his lap and sat lost in thought.