"My work is never out of hand, Jane," she said fretfully. "I am fairly downhearted to-day—so put to the push as I have been, with women in the kitchen and men in the fields."
"Dear mother, it may not be for long."
"It will be long enough to bring everything to wrack and ruin. The dairy is twenty-four shillings short this week."
"There are perhaps fewer cows in milk."
"The wool is short weight also; one of the gray horses is sick; the best thresher has gone soldiering, like the rest of the fools."
"Mother!"
"And Will Will-be-so has the rheumatism, and in spite of his Bible and his psalm-singing, has been to Dame Yodene for a charm."
"Why did he not come to you for flannel and a plaster?"
"Come to me! That goes without saying. I went out of my way to help him, and then he wished Master Israel was home, and said 'there was no rheumatics when he was round looking after his men.' I fired up, then, when he spoke that way—laying to my account the wettings he gets coming from the ale-house at nights; and then he muttered 'Women's ways—Will-be-so.'"
"Will is very provoking. I wish he would go to the wars."