"'N' if you want to work go out en hunt aiggs. Caton's folks sent over. Two dozen ef you've got 'em to spare."
I was very glad to do that. It was a mystery to our neighbors how father could make hens lay in cold weather. They had a good tight house for the night, and he seldom let them out until noon. We threw the corn in on the ear, and it was quite fun to see them tumble over each other to pick it off.
I only found fourteen, but I knew there would be more by noon. How pretty and white they were, almost like living things.
I took up my knitting. Men's stockings came up over the knees then, and it was a good long stretch to knit the legs. M'liss had pared a great panful of potatoes, so I filled up the big kettle with water and swung it over the blaze.
"Now ef you kin find a crust o' bread—I guess that youngun's hungry, en I don't want no growlin'."
"Why, he can't eat bread with no teeth!"
"Well, he kin gnaw it, en if he thinks he's gittin' some it'll be all the same."
"It wouldn't be for a hungry man," and I smiled.
"Land no! En if he takes after his father the Lord help us! Jed Hatch kin eat mor'n any two men I know."
The bags were mended and piled up in the out kitchen. M'liss cooked the potatoes and fried the pork while I laid the table. The baby rolled over asleep with his crust still in his hand and his mouth. Father came in and gave my cheek a soft pinch.